Hair of Flame
by ALittleDabllDoYa
Summary: The Dark King of Mordor completes a spell in the Forgotten Tongue, delivering the fire-haired God of Death to him as what was supposed to be his right hand servant. It never occurred to him to learn what the words of the spell actually meant. And so the tactic he used against the human kings was used on Sauron himself as he fell victim to pride in the Siege of Barad-dûr, and contin
1. Chapter 1

**_Hair of Flame_**

 ** _By Regal One by the Stream_**

 **The Dark King of Mordor completes a spell in the Forgotten Tongue, delivering the fire-haired God of Death to him as what was supposed to be his right hand servant. It never occurred to him to learn what the words of the spell actually meant. And so the tactic he used against the human kings was used on Sauron himself as he fell victim to pride in the Siege of Barad-dûr, and continued to haunt him throughout the ages until his day of rebirth.**

 **Anyways, this time my object of immersion is Lord of the Rings, which will from now on be referred to as LotR. Lord of the Rings is way too long, even if it is a badass name. Good job on that, J.R.R. Tolkien. I don't claim to own Bleach, rights and privileges go to Tite Kubo, ditto with Lord of the Rings (I lied about the acronym). All rights belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I seriously don't own either work and don't claim otherwise. I don't even particularly want to: too much responsibility for me, and I'm too young to be all responsible and stuff. Or so I like to think. My parents will plead otherwise.**

 **Okay, okay.**

 **Enjoy the first chapter!**

 **(Written 11/17/16. Edited 11/17/16,)**

 **XXXXXX**

It was the final battle in the War of the Last Alliance, and the swords of man, elf, and orc alike were feeding their insatiable bloodlust.

Sauron, the bastard, had finally decided he'd had enough of this seven-year siege of his fortress, Barad-dûr, and had taken up his mace to fight. This was not a good omen. The battle had been all but won until his arrival, for once the orcs rallied under their lord, they were a dark, formidable, unspeakable force. But now the demon was wading through the battlefield, his mace batting soldiers away like he was swatting aside flies. It was in such a manner that the High Elven King faced the Dark Lord, and it was in such a manner that he was slain, mercilessly and dishonorably.

The elves, seeing their King Gil-Galad slain in such an unspeakable anner, had reared and attacked with a new vigilance, a fresh clarity, vicious as if their king had been their bride. Their swords were unfaltering as they ran through their enemies with furious, deadly precision, eager to please the lost spirit of their lord and to allow him to walk to the next realm in assurance that all the loose ends were tied in his past life. Elrond himself had not fought with such purpose in a long while. He supposed it was only fair that he fight with all his soul on the line, as these elvish and human warriors did; as the High King of the Elves had. His weapon swept cleanly through the neck of another orc, the glistening sword expelling the dirty blood instantaneously from its blade as soon as the deed was done and glowing with a soft light, like its twin, as elvish blades did when near orcs. Taking his fighting up a notch, he delved into the tightest knot of enemies, straightening it, his two blades flashing as he fought like pinwheels of light. Finally, he paused among cheers of soldiers when the heads rolled upon the ground. And then he led the men forth upon the orcs, silver and iron swinging freely as the two sides clashed like a merciless ocean convulsing upon itself.

The fair elvish soldier to Elrond's right took a black arrow to his shoulder and faltered. One mistake was all it took. He immediately fell, clutching the blade in his clavicle so that his killer might not tear it out again and so should become an easy kill. A warrior through and through. Elrond took that responsibility upon himself, furiously striking down the orc that had killed his comrade with that tainted blade, and then precisely threw one of his swords at the orc who had shot him, cleanly impaling him through his throat. In the dance of the blade that he had been honed in since he was but an elfling, he fought his way through the tide and ripped his sword out of the orc's shoulder, turning to regard the rest of the battlefield before he sprang into action again. The men and elves, beyond their natures, were beginning to work together in their attacks, ferociously fighting. He began to make his way to the men's own high king, Elendil, to aid him.

And before Elrond's fair eyes, the High King of Minas Tirith was slain, his body torn and thrown upon a broken building's wall by the mace of darkness which Sauron the Deceiver wielded.

Elrond howled and, his closest warriors following his lead, cleared his way furiously towards the Dark Lord. The king had fallen, but his son must not. Gil-Galad had been heirless, save that boy. Without the son, Isuldur, the men would falter, and it would only be Elrond and the elves fighting, which could not happen; the prince named Isildur must survive…

He watched in a horrid sort of slow motion as the prince grasped his father's holy sword, only to have it broken under the great, armored foot of the Dark Lord. Sauron planted his foot in the middle of the man's abdomen and let out a high laugh, startling every soldier and orc alike in a near hundred meter radius into pausing their fight and looking his way as he chanted a spell in a tongue no man could understand, "… _Ningen no shi, chūkū no kemono no shi, hi no kaminoke to tamashī no kirisaki no shi no kami, watashi no mae ni orite, watashi no tatakai o shite, tenshi no seigi o chikau! Shinigami! Uchi ni oide! Anata no masutā no tame ni kono hito o korosu_!" ( **1** )

A shining light exploded from the heavens and beamed down to the earth at the base of Mount Doom. All eyes sprang to that light, and then Elrond gasped. For from the gap in the blackened clouds fell a manlike being, sheathed in black robes like none other he had seen before, his skin glowing with a holy sheen from the godlight and his hair, cut in spikes to his ears, an exuberant orange that warped and crackled as he plunged to the earth, the slave of gravity, locks snapping like the angry flames that ate at wood in a fireplace.

The Necromancer roared loudly in triumph as the heavenly creature plummeted. Awakened by the terrifying note, the being righted itself and stopped falling altogether, no longer held back by gravitational forces, standing in midair and observing the writhing battlefield.

And from his back he drew and held out from his sides two majestic cleavers, one the size of his own body and the other maybe that of his arm. For a split second, he stood under the golden light, the angel of death incarnate, beautiful, terrifying, regal, omnipotent. Then the godlight receded, all traces of it choked by the weeds of black clouds, and the being dropped like a stone, diving headfirst into the fray. With a sweep of his sword a black swell of energy swept out from him, the epicenter, sending elves and orcs alike flying from the brute force of it. Elrond held up and arm for balance and withstood it, then looked down at the dents in his armor in shock. The surge was blunted. He didn't want to know what would have happened if the wave had the ability to pierce armor. Elrond was one of the lucky ones at a distance who was able to receive slight dents and abrasions at the least from it. His head snapping up, Elrond fixed an eye solidly on the being. What was it…and _who would it side with_?

Then, faster than any beast that Elrond had ever seen, the man tirelessly swept through the commotion he had caused, _smashing_ elves and orcs aside with the flat of his blades. The being flashed past Elrond, glancing at him with a face that scowled fiercely but with eyes full of life and emotion, calculating and bright, and Elrond found himself drawn to those eyes in that moment, those eyes devoid of fear and instead filled with a sort of confusion, brown eyes that spoke with the depths of emotion that was lacking in many men of this age. Elrond almost didn't mind that the being then smacked the flat of his sword down upon him with all the power of a running horse. But as he progressed past him and the Lord of Rivendell brought his arm back down from the block, his arm that was surely broken in more than four places, he fought the sting of tears beyond his eyelids and the scream of agony and revolt of his body against this newfound suffering and instead trained his eyes again on the being that swept to the side of the Dark Lord in a nanosecond.

And then he realized the purpose of the incantation that Sauron had uttered and felt a weakness pervade his knees. If that creature allied itself with Sauron, it was all over. The war, finished without a doubt. The lives given for the resistance, wasted. Arda would fall under the foot of Sauron with this one puppeteered by the Dark Lord, for his skill was above even Elrond, and he was one of the greatest fighters of Middle Earth.

Sauron said something harshly to the individual, who stood motionlessly, his reaction hidden. There was a long silence as Sauron waited for the being's response. And when it finally did, he grasped the armor of the foot still thrust upon Isildur's midsection and shoved it away, causing the Dark Lord, Sauron the Abhorred, to fall flat on his ass.

The Dark Lord stared at the being in shock and fury as he turned away casually to probe the prince's abdomen, scrutinizing it carefully before patting Isildur's shoulder and turning back to the Dark Lord. His blade flashed, and with a clang that resounded across the entire battlefield, the being became the first to block a strike from Sauron the Black Hand. A shockwave passed over the surrounding area which ruffled the fiery hair again into blazing tongues, sent Isildur tumbling backwards, and drew a hush that made it seem as if the entire world had drawn in its breath at that moment.

Elrond could only watch in amazement as the being, who seemed but a human man in his early twenty years of life, thrust away the bedamned mace and pushed back the Dark Lord with a strength like that of a god.

Isildur scrambled backward until he struck stone beside his father's body and his hand nudged the stump of blade that was Narsil, his father's sword, the Sword of the One True King. He warred with his fear for a moment. This being could handle the Deceiver, that much was certain, but…what did the being know of the ring on Sauron's finger? How could Sauron be destroyed once and for all if that ring was not cut from his hand, wrested from his body, taken from his cold, dead finger and heated in the magma of Doom until it was naught but molten gold? And how would it be revenge for his father's death if another committed the deed? So he grasped his father's sword and waited for the opportune moment, steeling his resolve with every passing second.

And then it came. In a pause of the clashes of steel upon steel, the Deceiver thrust his hand forward, to grab or to push the being, he did not know. All that Isildur could comprehend was that the hand with the ring was brought forth, defenseless and ready for his sword. Lunging forward with the battle cry of a beast, Isuldur swept the sword across Sauron's fingers, slicing off all but the thumb. The index finger fell, the ring still circling it, and Sauron screeched, his body already disintegrating, and reached for it with his left hand.

The creature with hair of fire ran his blade through the Dark Lord's heart.

A mighty repercussion rumbled across the battlefield once more as Sauron, the enemy of the people of Middle Earth, was defeated.

And as Isildur's hand closed upon the ring, Elrond stumbled forward, shattered arm clutched to his chest and sword lowered in a sign of peace. He walked toIsildur and asked, "Are you alright?"

The prince assured him of his wellbeing, and then the two turned to the other man, who looked between them with curiosity. "My…name is Kurosaki Ichigo," he said, "And, uh…where am I?"

"That shall be answered later. Come, Isildur! Hasten, and follow me!" Elrond called, his fair brow drawn with worry and his dark, matted hair swirling around his stained face.

As Isildur, Elrond, and the Kurosaki trudged up the volcano, Elrond explained what had just happened to the being. He explained the rings, the deceit, the web of lies and battles and alliances that had linked together to come to this climax, this moment, where this ring would be destroyed and the Dark Lord Sauron forever crippled. " _Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne, in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them, in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie,_ " Elrond had told him, and the Kurosaki murmured this phrase absently as they walked, " _One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness, bind them_." Isildur turned the Ring over his fingers, staring into its sheen blankly.

Elrond told the Kurosaki to stay outside of the opening, to guard it from any Nazgûl hoping to avenge the demolition of their master, and brought Isildur in. " _Hurry_ , Isuldur," he said, " _Destroy_ it!"

The prince turned the ring over his fingers and gazed at it, the ring that had once been the size of his wrist that had shrunk down to a size which he simply _knew_ would fit him _perfectly_. Every king wore rings, did they not? And with this, this ring of power, he would be _undefeatable_. No mortal man would dare to cross Arnor …his people, his pride, his country, all protected. What an easy decision.

"Isildur!"

And yet…why was Elrond so _desperate_? Why would he want this ring destroyed? Was he withholding some information? Was Elrond _lying_ to him? What if…what if Elrond was trying to take it for himself?

 _It's mine_.

"Destroy it, Isildur!"

 _It'smineit'smineit'smineit'smineit'smineit's_ —

Isildur had one chance to destroy evil forever.

 _No…no…_

And that was when the pride of mankind shattered and the strength of men was overpowered by the will of the One Ring.

"No…it is my wergild. I have lost my father and my brothers to the demon who formerly possessed this ring; it would serve as a reminder of their memory as I gaze upon it," Isildur whispered, and then he turned his back on Elrond, turned his back on a bright future, and exited the mountain, ignoring the fire-haired being who stared as him in unanswered inquiry as he left Elrond and the Kurosaki behind. ( **2** )

 **Fin**.

( **1** ) **" _Death of man and hollow beast, god of death with hair of fire and cleaver of souls, descend before me, be with my fight, and commit your angelic justice! Death God! Come to me! Kill this man for your master_!" is the translation I wanted. Google translate isn't exactly the love of my life, but I tried. It's Japanese, btw, which is "ancient language", because I'm to lazy to make up some garbled shit and it works because Ichigo is Japanese anyways. _Logic._**

 **(2) _Wergild_ : a kind of compensation gift for a person's death. Usually they are of equal "price" as the person who died.**

 **This is the chapter, I think. Yeah, that's it. I have a second part started but I'm such a lazy ass that it might not come out for longer. Meh.**

 **This is actually my first post and I'm kind of winging the system. Not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to this and I'm too proud to ask my friend soooooo...I'm praying.**

 **~ _RegalOneByTheStream_**


	2. Chapter 2

**RegalOneByTheStream**

 **I did it!**

 **Yaaaaaaaay!**

 **Thanks for positive reviews!**

 **So aw hell NAH to the yaoi or whatever. Not against it, not for it, and most definitely NOT happening here (and for the record, I don't write smut either. Don't ask). Sorry if the names put up there gave you that feel. I just didn't give a lot of the ladies the spotlight since Ichigo is riding solo right now, and since there are limited women in LotR anyways...yeah, no. It's all canon, and Sauron is a little bitch so he gets no lady...or man. Sorry if it gave anyone that impression!**

 **And as for the hair, well, I think I said it curls around his ears when he dropped out of the sky. I address the problem more in this chapter, so it's cool.**

 **And Ichigo left with Elrond because, I mean, if you've watched the movies and read the last part, Isildur acts freaky bipolar. Noticeably bipolar. Naturally, when in a strange area, unfamiliar people tend to shift towards the ones who are responsible and in control (even though Elrond didn't just force Isildur to drop it, I mean, save a bunch of problems and stop some future deaths and stuff, why don't you, Elrond? Just run out screaming ISILDUR SLIPPED AND FELL IN THE MAGMA, OH NOOOOOO and leave the finding-a-new-ruler-since-this-one-don't-got-no-heir shit to the steward) but Ichigo doesn't go with Isildur because he's getting shitty vibes and he doesn't go off gallivanting on his own because he is ON HIS OWN and he needs info and company and stuff. That's all.**

 **Oh my god, princess, I'm so sorry about spelling Isildur wrong. I'll fix it, simmer down. Thanks for pointing it out thought cause I would never have noticed, ha ha.**

 **Enjoy ch2!**

Elrond watched as the young, naïve new High King departed, a sad, troubled gleam in his eyes, but allowed him to depart. He had much bigger problems: for one, the Kurosaki Ichigo.

After the young prince had deserted them, toting his prize openly like the fool he was, Elrond had questioned the demigod with all of his might. He had learned through a lot of conversational toiling that the being was a Shinigami, which meant Death God in his language, and that he'd left his mortal body behind in his own realm. Elrond just classified him as a demigod, no less terrifying than if he was a complete god of death. And as for Kurosaki Ichigo--apparently the strange title was not a classification: it was a name, as much as Elrond was his own name--he had self-acclaimed amnesia. A lie, if the shifting and blinking were any indication, as well as his remembrance of his name, personal information, and abilities. The death god may be powerful, but he was an awful liar. However, his lies were to be foreseen, as the creature had told him (as far as he knew, truthfully) that he had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten there, and how to get back. He was probably confused beyond comprehension and more than a little terrified.

And when the being had pulled out something he called a "soul phone" with a snort and much mumbled cursed toward a "my ass, simple" merchant from his world, and then flipped it open, causing the strawberry keychain on it to jangle irritatingly, his attempt to "make a call" it had failed spectacularly, with only a flash and a bang as testament to his bust. It ended with a disgruntled Kurosaki holding his "soul phone" gingerly, the face of it completely blackened with a strange little symbol moving by itself and bouncing on the edges of the box, two unrecognizable, complicated symbols written in the middle. The symbol bounced off of it, too. It must have been some form of Death God magic, channeled through this "soul phone" item. It must have been a strong weapon, if Kurosaki looked this distraught at its loss. "Out of battery," he wailed furiously, spitting out words in his mother tongue that could only have been curses, "It was literally on the charger all night! The hell! How the fuck--" his eyebrows raised in a sudden realization, and he took a rather long time hooking together expletives after. "It was Rukia! When I get my hands on that bitch--!"

Elrond took the discombobulated, raging demigod under his wing, partly because he was nothing but an asset and an indispensable future ally, partly because he pitied the poor being, and partly because he was too damn amusing to leave to his own forces. And so he brought Kurosaki to Rivendell along with his surviving warriors. Elrond walked beside the creature for a while as they entered the city and wives and children sprang upon the men like sobbing, starved lionesses upon confused, wounded deer. Elrond considered himself lucky to be standing still, considering the excessive theatrics his wife loved to put on. He spent the dwindling time before his imminent takedown talking and understanding the Kurosaki's nature, trying to glide past initial guardedness and to become a foothold and confidante to the young man. Finally, Lady Luck could save him no longer, and a cry of joy and relief caught his attention. Looking up, his beautiful Celebrían leapt into his arms. Staggering backwards, she planted a kiss upon his lips. Receiving her wholeheartedly, Elrond took her tightly in his arms and clutched her head against his chest, pressing his face into her sweet brown hair and inhaling the scent of autumn. She was beautiful. She was his beloved wife, and their young twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, were barreling after her. They came to a screeching halt before him with his infant daughter, Arwen, wrapped in Elrohir's eternally shifting arms, with Elladan tending to her coos and burbles every several seconds.

"Who is the blushing young sparrow with the hair of flame?" His wife whispered into his ear, her sweet Sindarin words drawing his attention back to her.

Elrond turned to glance at his companion. Sure enough, the demigod was red faced from the public display of affection and attempted to look guiltily at the coloring trees of autumn, but he had not understood the language they spoke in. He probably thought they were whispering dirty things, knowing how his mind seemed to progress and seeing as his face was bright red. Snorting, Elrond grabbed Kurosaki's shoulder and shook him lightly, startling the young one. "A parting gift from the Necromancer," Elrond replied, also in the common Elvish tongue, "called Kurosaki Ichigo. He is deadly, yet harmless. Our newest…companion. One of the Dark One's spells backfired, and he was the end result. He could prove a good mentor for the twins, and we will need a consultant and a confidant. And…" He leaned close to his wife's ear. "He is a God of Death."

Celebrían hissed in a sharp intake of breath but stayed relaxed, her hand flying to her bosom. "The boys...Arwen," she whispered, her other hand stretching along with her eyes to where their children stood, the twins vibrating with the indecisiveness of either letting their parents be mushy or being polite, the nobility in their blood resisting the former but the child in their age pleading for it, and Arwen gurgling in blissful oblivion. Elrond shook his head. "He will not harm us," he answered. Celebrían was silent for a minute or so, the remainder of the army bustling around the royal couple, their children, and their awkward companion, giving the six a wide berth as the queen kissed her husband again and released him. "tummin on voitettu," she announced to the remaining crowds, retaining her Sindarin speech as she proclaimed the future to her people, who cheered alongside her, "ja Kolmas Ikä on alkanut!"

And for the benefit of the God of Death: "The Dark Lord is gone. And so begins the Third Age," Elrond repeated quietly in the Common Tongue.

 **XXXXXX**

It was the pride and joy of Elrond to have been able to watch his daughter and sons grow up with Kurosaki Ichigo.

Even in the times of adolescence when Arwen got little girl crushes and when he found Kurosaki messing around with Elladan and Elrohir, his sons, as if they were siblings, and even attempting to teach them how to speak in his tongue (no matter what he tried, though, they were simply incapable of retaining the language), the children of Elrond and Celebrían grew and prospered with a surprising strength and speed to Kurosaki's stature and then, in the boys' case, further, towering at least ten centimeters above their brother figure while Arwen stayed a healthy five centimeters below him, to Kurosaki's relief. Over the course of the three centuries of peace his spiky hair of flame drooped from his ears down to the base of his neck to lay in a shag against his upper spine and curl forward brush against his throat, and so he allowed Arwen to weave it into a tight braid as much as she desired. It was quite fun to watch her skills progress, and to watch Kurosaki parade around with his hair in a lopsided, messy, not-quite-a-braid hair contraption. He taught the boys not only the uses but also the morals of the sword, and seemed to almost be recounting what had been driven into his skull a thousand times. The God of Death had a particular vendetta against the word scared. He would kneel beside the offender, flick the respective elfling's face, and say, "Abandon your fear. Look ahead. Move forward and never stop. You'll age if you pull back. You'll die if you hesitate." Elrond had watched it happen multiple times after he'd stalked one of the boys' training sessions in the mountains in order to find out why his sons were so achey at the end of the day and why they had identical purpling bruises on their foreheads.

Celebrían had nearly bitten Ichigo's head off when he'd recited it to Elladan and Elrohir concerning the food they didn't like at the dinner table and given them the customary flick, which they were by that time so attuned to that they accepted the blow with grace, even as their heads snapped backwards at an alarming speed and Kurosaki hit each of them on target, directly on the bruise. But that was before her capture. Her torture, escape, her recovery without her revival, and the sendoff. His final goodbye to his beloved joyless one before she departed to Valinor, the Undying Lands. After that unutterable event, Elrond shut himself tightly away from his children, who looked so much like his beautiful Celebrían, and did not speak for many moons.

Therefore, Kurosaki was instrumental in their upbringing and daily skills, which was why it was such a shock when one day, after hosting thirteen dwarves, Gandalf, and a peculiar being called Bilbo Baggins who fancied himself a "hobbit", all of which claimed to be on a foolish adventure to reclaim a dragon infested homeland, the children woke up and Kurosaki simply wasn't there—along with the strange party—and they suddenly had to turn to their father for support. Well, Arwen did. The boys decided to take an extensive hunting trip, proclaiming that they wouldn't return until they each had 100,000 orc heads under their belts, like a more gruesome version of Kurosaki's crane stories. Several warriors had an undying loyalty to Kurosaki, for over the years he had defended Rivendell from many attacks, and they had pushed for a search. However, Elrond had decided against it. "He is the most capable warrior I have ever known," he had argued, jabbing just under his left breast, "He stabbed the Dark One here, I saw it with my own eyes. No, he is a most peculiar one. He probably watched them sneak off and decided to follow them."

His assumption turned out to be dead on, but it did not contain his shock when Kurosaki returned, giving the lord of Rivendell the explanation that he'd followed the dwarfs with minimum interaction until Mirkwood, where he'd met an elven woman who'd given him housing, food, and information. Later, he'd helped the dwarves escape from the area and cleared out the orc hordes that had gathered. And then he'd stayed a little longer before traveling towards the Lonely Mountain again. But then he'd been accosted by a dragon midair, which was a slightly confusing statement to Elrond before he remembered that the demigod had literally stopped himself from falling midair on top of a battlefield. So, he realized, in all honesty he was acting a bit naively by even being surprised anymore. It didn't stop Elrond from flipping his shit when Ichigo rubbed the edge of his shorter sword irritably, called the dragon a "flying Kenpachi," and explained quite badly how he had had to maneuver quickly through the air to beat it down, doubly so when it started breathing fire all over the place and caught the city underneath their battle aflame. But then a black arrow had come out of nowhere and stuck the dragon right where he'd chipped out one of its scales, and he'd had a hell of a time trying to shove the dragon away before it flattened the entire town, ending up with just its tail hitting somewhere on the outskirts of town. Just his luck: that one tail flattened both the mayor and a quarter of the town's treasury. His story was insane, and so like Kurosaki that it was beyond a doubt true. It also explained why his clothing was coated in the vile stench of dragon's blood and the shimmery silver of a female Mirkwood Elf's hair pin was thrust into his hair, which was slicked back from his face and braided into a fishtail with loose strands poking out here and there from time, another symbol of the Mirkwood elves.

Arwen was not pleased to see that he had let others touch his hair of flames.

Elrond assumed he had enough on his plate and didn't need to learn about the rescue of Gandalf, nor of the reemergence of Sauron, the Necromancer.

Seasons passed. The descendant of the human crown began to stay in Rivendell, Aragorn, renamed Estel and hidden from the world and from himself. However, after he had revealed to Estel his true name, His lineage, and given him his birthrights, he promised himself to Elrond's daughter. When he confided this to Kurosaki, he only snorted and replied, "Well it's about damn time. He'd been making eyes at her since he was twelve," and left Elrond to wonder whether he should ask Kurosaki just what these "eyes" were or if he should just kill Aragorn on the terms of intemperate lust and call it even. Eventually, he guessed that it was more of Kurosaki's right to understand the child—after all, ever since he could walk, Estel had been enamored with Kurosaki (or rather his gigantic weapons) and followed the other man like a shadow. He less openly worshiped the Death God, unlike Elladan and Elrohir, who would immediately grab his hands and walk around swinging them until they reached a more mature age (and even then, they still followed him like whimpering pups whenever he was in sight), and it seemed that the twins terrified the young boy, for when they were around Kurosaki, Estel could be found sulking somewhere off to the side. But when the twins were away at their "therapeutic" hunting trips that slathered them in the stench of orc blood, which sometimes took decades for them to return from, it was a well-known fact throughout the city that wherever Kurosaki went, Estel would never be too far behind.

Elrond didn't know when exactly it began, but he eventually started to notice a shift in the relationship of the two. Where it was once a distant, tense 'stalker and prey' kind of aura, it was now a relaxed 'teacher and student' kind of atmosphere…and it was accentuated with a sudden plague of bruises that hit the younger like a torrent and finally came to light as Kurosaki and an eleven year old Estel finally emerged from a training area one day, the latter practically beaten within an inch of his life but smiling brighter than the sun and the former with a nasty, bright purple black eye swollen shut, the other hazel eye beaming with pride. It didn't take a genius to figure out the transaction between them when after that, every day save Saturday from a randomly placed range of about seven to ten hours, the clashes of swords and grunts of battling men and exhausted boys never halted.

When Estel finally broke away from Kurosaki at the tender age of fourteen and worked on his skills with another teacher, Ichigo resumed his place at Elrond's side as his confidante and most trusted friend. And yet he sometimes caught the god gazing out the window and muttering inaudibly to himself, watching Estel attack his opponent, his teacher. And yet when he finally heard what the flame-haired one said, he was surprised to find him not critiquing the pair, but quietly bitching with himself, the first voice exactly like Kurosaki but the other with a rolling growl to his tone, who didn't care for the Common Tongue that his counterpart stubbornly spoke, opting to stay in the Ancient Language they both had as their mother tongue.

Elrond always wondered why Kurosaki had that particular quirk, but chalked it up to sword master's insanity, as he would most likely lose limbs if he inquired about it. " _Hello, Kurosaki, I come to you on the account of asking whether or not you have voices in your head that you converse with and give sarcastic, extremely vulgarly worded_ _opinions to regularly?"_ Yeah, no. He knew that knowing next to nothing about Kurosaki's strange condition was more that a little concerning, but Elrond was also rather fond of his head being where it was, perched on his neck and not rolling on the ground.

But despite the fact that the growly voice that spoke in foreign tongues seemed to look down upon the skill of the demigod's pupil, he'd never seen Kurosaki so proud of his student when Estel left Rivendell for the company of the Rangers. And Elrond had never been so horrified when Arwen went with him.

But, for a time, Elrond almost allowed himself believe that mortal calamity had overpassed them all for good.

And so mortal calamity bit back.

 **XXXXXX**

"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old," Elrond began, his face grim and serious as he gazed around the circle of beings, of all race and species, all with one thing held in common: the wish for the greater good. "…you've been called here today to answer the threat of Mordor." His gaze twitched briefly over a darkened alcove, accented only with brief flashes of the hair of flames covered haphazardly with a black shawl, and he resisted the urge to scowl deeply. His attempts to hide his locks were absolutely ridiculous…and he had _told_ Ichigo to abandon any hope of joining the Fellowship! _Idiot_! After all, what were they to do if the Ring were to call to him, and he turn against them? The Ring had proven to be able to manipulate even a family as deeply bonded as the Bagginses; he feared that even a Death God would be susceptible to its call, and when Ichigo fell, Middle Earth fell with him.

"Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this one fate, this one doom."

He was gladdened to notice that no one had seen his break in concentration. Legolas the Mirkwood Prince fidgeted uneasily, gazing around the circle in an attempt to gain a sort of comfortableness. Aragorn, now by the name of Strider, was looking at him in the blank, emotionless way that Rangers do—calm and ominous in one look as if it were more natural than taking breath. Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor, fidgeted almost as violently as Legolas, but for a different reason—his actions brimmed with youthful impatience, eager to be a hero, while the young elf's only conveyed a vast disturbance at the mention of this grisly fate and a foreboding feeling towards the darkness he felt was about to be brought before him. The dwarf looked around in all his redundant glory, most likely searching for the food. When he looked at Gandalf, however, he was glancing around angrily, his eyes hesitating on the alcove briefly before they skimmed over it once more. And the hobbits were as they had been for the entire stay in Rivendell: scared beyond comprehension by the stories Gandalf had told, by the horrid legends retold, by the mention of this Dark Lord who had already threatened their wellbeing. Elrond looked back at Gandalf, who had fixed his eyes on the alcove where the man with the hair of flames had-- _thankfully_ \--stopped fidgeting. Deciding to save his friend a very embarrassing entrance, he said in an act of merciful distraction, "Bring forth the ring, Frodo."

The young hobbit was shivering as he acted, but without another hint of fear he strode to the pedestal in the center of the arc and placed the golden ring on its flat marble surface. The movement, while seeming a simple deed, was effective in its original purpose of drawing Gandalf the Grey's attention back to the circle.

There was a moment of silence as each member reacted with varied levels of intensity: Legolas visibly shied away from the ring, while Boromir leaned forward greedily, his eyes trained on the little object as if it was the only thing there. And yet there was only one sound audibly made beside the shifting of tense people, a gasp made by none other than the dense-as-a-brick Kurosaki, which with a pinch of luck and a mountain of deceit could be passed off as a breath of the wind.

Too bad Kurosaki was awful at lying.

However, while Legolas seemed to believe it was just that, his fingers only momentarily twitching towards his bow; Gandalf's head snapped up like that of a deer enlightened to the presence of the hunter, his gaze focused on the alcove. Elrond struggled to keep his face impassive. Of all the things his idiot friend could have done, that was the _worst_. He'd just shaken Gandalf off of his trail, too! Glancing back at the gathering, Elrond was surprised to see that Strider, of all people, had broken his mask and was curiously looking around, his own gaze resting on the alcove for a moment before he shook off his nerves and returned to the ring, although one ear was most definitely cocked to listen for any sign of intrusion. Elrond resisted the urge to drag a hand across his face in exasperation.

Finally, Boromir broke the sound of silence. "So it is true," he whispered. The rest of the group looked his way. "…in a dream…I saw the eastern sky grow dark," he began, and Elrond could almost feel Ichigo's eyeroll and mental moan, _UGH, MONOLOGUEEEE_. Directing a positively _lethal_ look at the dark alcove, he listened intently as Boromir delved into his story, the young prince standing up as if in thought. "But in the west, a pale light lingered," he continued, and it was lost unto no one how he edged closer to the pedestal with each passing word. "A voice…a voice was crying, saying, "Your doom is close at hand. Isildur's Bane is found."" He finally reached the pedestal and gazed down at the small piece of jewelry. Gandalf and Elrond shared a look. Boromir reached for the ring. "Isildur's Bane," he whispered absently, his fingers inches from the cool gold… _oh how cool and delightful it would feel against his skin_ …

" _Boromir_!" Elrond barked.

Gandalf shouted over him, a loud garbled speech, guttural and violent, to the sound of which Gimli cried out, Legolas cringed, Frodo's breath quickened as his head snapped from person to person and the sky grew darker, Boromir shrank back from the Ring of Power, and Elrond, so attuned to the strange power of his close friend over the ages, felt his immense powers stir irritably. This time, Elrond actually did cover his face with his hand in irritation. Gandalf was sending a message to not only Boromir, but to Ichigo as well, the unnamed one who lingered in the shadows…telling them both to back away. It was ingenious, if not for the fact that he was using Dark Speech and that it was a well-known fact around Rivendell that Kurosaki was extremely prone to accept challenges. And he sure as _hell_ would not turn this one down, if the fluctuations were any indication.

Finally, Elrond retorted, " _Never_ before has any voice uttered that vile tongue in Imladris."

Gandalf replied grumpily, "I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" and then to Boromir, he snapped, "The ring is _altogether_ evil!"

"Nay, it is a gift!" Boromir replied energetically, bouncing up from his seat, "Why not use this ring?" he pleaded, "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay! By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!" Elrond felt Ichigo's mood shift angrily and glanced back at the alcove, then at Gandalf. The old man was staring fully at the hiding spot, daring the figure behind it to approach them. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy," Boromir beseeched, "let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it," Strider interjected, "None of us can." Boromir turned to Strider, annoyance written across his face, as the ranger went on, "The One Ring answers to Sauron, and only Sauron. There is no master other than him. Any action done with its power is an action of evil alone."

"And what would a mere _ranger_ know of this matter?"

"This is no mere ranger!" Legolas spat, appalled and threatened for his friend's honor, "This is _Aragorn_ , son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, heir to the throne of Gondor! You owe him your allegiance, heir of the Steward of Gondor!"

Gandalf was ignoring the conversation now, his focus completely trained on where Ichigo sat, eavesdropping. He was shifting around now, attempting to glimpse the embodiment of the presence he felt. Elrond hid his expression in his hand and prayed that the careful scrutiny was the cause of his foolish friend's sudden stillness, and not the Ring's allurement.

Boromir tried the word as if it were a bitter food. " _Aragorn_ ," he said slowly. " _This_ is the heir?"

"He is your _king_ ," Legolas proclaimed. Elrond ignored the squabbling young ones in favor of glaring at Ichigo's flickering hair. He would have Arwen lock him up for weeks if he heard _one utterance_ from that man...one hint that could give him away to Gandalf and bury them both in a pile of sh--feces. _Damn_ , he thought, _Kurosaki's tendency to curse was forcing itself upon him_.

Boromir savored that sentence with the utmost reluctance, choosing his next words carefully. Finally, he said lowly, "I do not need a king. Gondor does not need a king."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Boromir sat back down to salvage his trampled pride and Elrond caught up on what he had ignored. Finally, Gandalf turned away from the Death God's hiding place and said, "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it." Elrond sighed. "Then there is only one choice," he answered, "The ring must be disposed of."

"Shall we throw it under the sea, into the abyss?" Legolas wondered. "No," Elrond answered, "For it may resurface in a thousand of years, and by that time the Dark Lord will have gathered the strength to reclaim it. No the only other option…is to destroy it." There was a long intake of breath from the trees as Legolas shifted towards his bow, Aragorn sat up straighter, Gandalf grimaced as he mulled over the implications of that statement, Frodo twitched in fear and confusion, and Boromir made a soft, guttural noise in his throat. Finally, the dwarf, Gimli, hefted his axe, grunting like a wild beast. Elrond rested a palm on his forehead. Dwarves... _temperance_! Then he looked up. "Well then, what are we waiting for?" he asked rhetorically, and he ran forward and with a roar heaved his arms around, slamming his axe down upon the ring.

Everyone saw the same thing: Gimli swung, a bright orange eye flashed angrily, and then Gimli's blade was halted under the hand of a strange man, with rounded ears and hair the color of the aflame eye. Elrond, recently emerged from the shade of his palm, quickly went back with a sigh of mortification. Gandalf rose from his seat, but a look from Elrond assured him that his sigh was only annoyance, not dread. Gimli snarled, "Who the bloody hell are _you_?" Frodo, recognizing the man's hair from passing in the infirmary, squeaked. Gandalf stepped forward and leveled his staff at the man's nose. "I would like to ask the same question."

Aragorn stood. "He is our friend," he called, gaining their attention, and then he bowed at the waist to the man. "Master Kurosaki. I pray you are well."

Kurosaki threw the axe to the side and bowed back. "I'm good. Thanks, Estel."

Legolas stood up abruptly, his mouth open to protest once more on Strider's behalf, but Kurosaki turned to him and his mouth immediately snapped shut. Taking in the sight of his hair, Ichigo fingered the fold of his shihakusho where he kept the Elven pin tucked away, hidden yet on his person at all times. _Mirkwood_. Gandalf chuckled. "I feel that we have met, but alas, I am an old man," he stated, "And old men forget many things. Who are you? What is your purpose here?" Finally rising from his seat, Elrond said wearily, "Gandalf, he is not an enemy but an old friend. I vouch for his trustworthiness."

"As do I," the young ranger put in, "he is only a threat to those who anger him. And to his students." The stranger made a clucking sound in the back of his throat, scowling at the young man briefly. Legolas took an indignant step forward, but Strider held out a hand, shaking his head slightly. "I resent that!" the demigod muttered, tugging his shawl protectively over his hair, somehow completely covering it. Elrond scowled. Why couldn't he have done that earlier? Gandalf finally lowered his staff, suspicion not quite satisfied but calmed by the testimony of his trusted comrades. Elrond stood. "Kurosaki, I appreciate your aid in protecting us from the foolish actions of the dwarf, but you are not welcome in this meeting. I have told you once and I will tell you again: the Ring will destroy us if it is able, and you are more than able." Kurosaki shot him a _look_ ; Elrond sneered back unsympathetically. Kurosaki hated when his abilities were played up. It was payback for the disobedience in a matter as grave as this. "Leave us now, Elrohir and Elladan have returned and are no doubt searching for their sword master." Gandalf shook his head. "Elrond, if he is threatening to Sauron, by all means should we take him with us!"

Elrond shook his head. "He is a God. He is a threat to _everyone_. Think of what the Dark One would do with this one," he made a rude Elvish gesture at Kurosaki, causing Legolas, the only one other than the recipient to understand its importance, to gasp, and then turn slightly green as Kurosaki growled and stuck up his middle finger back, "under his thumb."

Gandalf looked slightly sick at the implications. Strider was looking between the three of them calculatingly. The dwarf was positively bamboozled. The hobbits whispered amongst themselves. The only one to act, however, was the young son of the Steward of Gondor. Boromir stepped forward. "Sir Lord of the Skies," he said, kneeling in front of Kurosaki, "I welcome thee to Imladris and humbly request that you aid us in our attempt to defeat Sauron."

Elrond shook his head. "He will not."

"I can speak for myself!" Kurosaki snapped. "And I'm not a god, or the lord of the skies. I told you, that's an arrogant term for the bastards in eleventh division."

Elrond stared at him hard. The man with the hair of flames stared back, and all the surrounding people could almost see the sparks flying between their gazes. Finally, the not-a-god dissented to Elrond. "Whatever," he groaned, his scowl plastered across his face clearly. "I'm going to find Elrohir and Elladan. Sorry to _disturb_ you."

However, he stepped forward to the pedestal with the Ring, staring at it. "It's telling me to get away or it'll destroy me," he called back to Elrond, "or something along those lines. It's got reiatsu, which is pretty cool, like having a ring zanpakuto...but it's giving me killing intent. If _someone_ ," his head snapped to Elrond, and if any of his glares were intense before, they paled compared to this one, "would let me try to study it, I would have more answers."

Gandalf snorted. "With what we've been told, you cannot be allowed to even touch it!" Kurosaki's head swung around, scowling, but he didn't answer the old wizard, instead ignoring the looks penetrating his back and stalking away.

Elrond sighed. "Back to the point..."

 **XXXXXX**

"So, Kurosaki, where are you from?" Merry asked jovially, half-shot mug in his grasp and a completely stoned Pippin by his side but turned away, conducting Frodo and Sam in what sounded like a loud, obnoxious drinking song. The half drunk hobbit ducked a wave of Pippin's hand, smacking his best friend on the back of the head in retaliation before he continued, "You don't look like an elf, you know? Your ears and clothes and stuff. You from the mountains? Plains? Woodlands?"

The other man shifted in his seat. "I'm from Imladris," he replied carefully, wary of Elrond's hawk eyes from across the room where he sat with the wizard, the dwarf, the elf, and the son of the Steward of Gondor. Estel was nowhere to be found, probably catching up with Arwen or the boys. "I've lived here for the past few centuries."

"Noooo," the hobbit slurred, waving a hand, "too boring! How about before that? Like, hometown?"

Elrond's glare was burning.

"I'm from...Karakura. A town in the east."

"Karakura," the hobbit muttered, sticking his tongue into the corner of his mouth. He mused over the word for a moment. "Karakura. Kurakara. Arukarak? Hm. Nope, never heard of it!" he finally said, the thoughtful look melting off of his face into a mischievous expression that put Keigo's to shame. Pippin, who had turned to hear the question, laughed. "Sounds like a load of babble to me, Mer!"

Ichigo spared a glance at Elrond and winced. The look on his face was downright murderous. Beside him, the wizard, iGandalf, looked to be trying to figure out where Karakura was as well. Ichigo resolved to go to the library later with one of the scribes to put Karakura down somewhere in the east before someone realized he was lying.

"So where are you from?" Ichigo fired back, if only to retreat from the spotlight. He had picked the right question. The hobbit was pleased to spout off information about his home, the Shire, about the warm, clean Hobbit-holes, about Mr. Bilbo Baggins, about the festivals and Pippin's and his latest blunder with a dragon firework, about how, when Bilbo had returned from his first quest all those years ago, someone had stolen all his spoons, telling Ichigo about everything from the farms to how delicious the brew was. He elbowed Sam. "And you got yourself a pretty one on your line, eh, Sam! Ha ha! Any woman of yours, Kurosaki? Aw, what's with the blush?!"

Ichigo proceeded to turn a deeper shade of red. It wasn't his fault that in three hundred years of living in Imladris, he hadn't been with an Elven woman. And it wasn't like there hadn't been any offers. He'd just been so busy, what with practically raising the twins and Arwen and worrying about them constantly and then trying to be like Urahara and make some machine to find his way back that he didn't feel like he could be a proper husband. Plus, there was the matter of Rukia...although by now he'd probably lost to Renji via being MIA and they already had violent mini pineapples running around, beating people up and screwing with Byakuya.

"You don't bat for the other team, do you?"

Ichigo choked on his drink. Elrond's group across the room roared with laughter. Frost thumped his back as he spluttered, " _No_ , I'm not _gay_."

"Hm," Merry said, taking a long drag of his brew before speaking again, "that's a real shame."

...the _fuck_ was that supposed to mean?!

Laughing, Frodo teased, "Don't try this joke again, Merry. We know about you and Linda!" Pippin howled as his best friend grinned sheepishly. "Gotcha, didn' 'e?" the smallest and simultaneously most inebriated hobbit leered, giggling drunkenly. Ichigo smiled back uncomfortably.

He felt a tap on his shoulder _thank god_ and turned to face Estel. He leaned down close to his ear and whispered over the riled up hobbits, "Elrohir and Elladan have returned. They are in the infirmary."

The hobbits watched as a smile that rivaled the stars beamed across their temporary companion's face. Silently beaming, he got up from the table and walked out. Pippin scoffed. "Well, that was rude!"

The four drunk hobbits burst into another round of laughter. "Cheers!"

 **XXXXXX**

Elrohir had been so fucking scared that he could barely see straight.

Elladan had been feverish and unconscious, blood dripping down his leg. He didn't really feel anything.

But Elrohir's elf ears could hear the stamping of orc feet. His elf eyes darted around, driving his horse away from the monsters in pursuit. The Elven blood in his veins pounded to the rhythm of battle cries, shrieks and snarls, pain and anger, and the brutal lust for the deaths of the foul creatures barely sated by simple death. It was not what they gave their mother. It was what Elrohir would have given them, if he could stop.

But Elladan had been a dumbass and gotten shot.

They were all dead the moment the arrow struck him.

It wasn't a dark arrow, thankfully--this band of orcs, about twenty in number although five had already been slain, had been away from civilization for a long while, judging from the state of their ragged clothing and how some of them fought with hunger in their eyes, and the missing limbs suggested the beginnings of cannibalism. They did not have the resources or the patience to make dark arrows. Nevertheless, even a normal arrow was bad--not poisoned, but deadly all the same. It ripped into his leg, bypassing skin and muscle and cleanly poking out the other side. And Elladan had screamed.

Elrohir saw red.

Elladan was furious at himself. If Kurosaki had been there, he would have beaten him black and blue for letting himself be caught off guard. He would have started hiding around again, jumping out of alcoves and from behind corners and trying to stab him like they had done when the boys were reaching manhood. He resisted the urge to rip the foreign object out--he did not feel poison yet, and the wound was relatively clean, however he hated the feeling of the foreign object in his body and hated that he would probably have to take it out himself later, while he couldn't now unless he wanted to bleed out on the battlefield.

But right now, he was more concerned with his brother.

Elrohir was a good fighter. No, better than good. He was phenomenal. Together, when Kurosaki hadn't released his weapons, they could push their teacher into a loss using Elrohir's strength and Elladan's tactics, and Kurosaki was stronger than Saruman the betrayer would ever be. But right now, the stronger brother burned with fury. His twin was injured, and he could feel the phantom pains in his calf that suggested that the agony his brother felt was colossal, and _he was furious_.

But as he lay crippled on the ground, rolling to avoid strikes and parrying to the best of his ability, he found that he didn't quite need to fight so vigilantly anymore. Because Elrohir was a tornado sprinting through the orc hordes, decapitating and stabbing and roaring like a wounded animal backed into a corner even though it was Elladan who had been disabled. He could only watch in sick fascination and duck flying heads as Elrohir whirled through the ranks, taking out the remaining mob of fifteen orcs without stopping. When he finally turned to Elladan, the rage evident on his brow, he was panting and sweating, and yet his anger switched to fear with a 180 flip as he bounded towards him. Elrohir knelt by his brother's side. Elladan had already snapped off the long ends of the arrow, resolving to pull out the intruding stick when he had proper medical assistance--in other words, when they made it back to Rivendell.

Rivendell was four days away from where they had been. But now they were there, galloping across the bridge, howling for a medic, carrying Elladan into the medical bay. The shaft of the arrow had been removed from Elladan's leg, not by their father, but by his best disciple, the second most skilled medic in Imladris. He had left a medicine by the bedside table, telling the injured one to drink it. One sip was all it took for him to spit it back up and proclaim that he was never drinking that. Elrohir rested by his brother's side, uncharacteristically quiet. They had spoken a few words earlier, and the thoughts following the ideas were sobering enough to put them into silence.

"...Kurosaki is going to be _pissed_ , isn't he…?"

"... _yes_ …"

They both winced as the door to their room slammed open, and cringed even further when they saw Kurosaki in the doorway. But instead of flinging his zanpakuto at them and screaming bloody murder, their mentor let loose a long sigh and leaned heavily into the doorway, his tense body visibly relaxing. "They told me that you were grievously injured," he finally said. The medic who had guided him slunk away guiltily. He ignored the elf in favor of walking into the room and staring at the wound. "It's kind of cool, actually. Did it go all the way through?" Elrohir nodded haltingly and Elladan added, "It's from one of the orc encampments we were scouting. Had about twenty-five left, and weakened from hunger. Elrohir and I were eradicating them when it happened." Elrohir frowned. "I counted only twenty." Elladan shot him a look that meant _SHUT UP_.

Ichigo hummed softly in his throat. He'd learned a healing kidō from Unohana once before...but what was the incant…grimacing, he turned back to the boys. "Get better quickly. We all three are going on a mission in…" he flicked his fingers quickly, counting, "a month and a half. So like forty days. If you don't get well before then we're leaving you. This is important. Don't tell your dad."

Elladan and Elrohir stared at Kurosaki. Then they looked back at each other. Silent words were spoken.

Elladan grabbed the nasty draught by his bedside table and gulped it down like it was the nectar of the gods. Then, wiping his lips, he and his twin turned back to Kurosaki, identical grins stretching from ear to ear.

 **XXXXXX**

On December 26, at the break of dawn, the Fellowship of the Ring left Rivendell for the mountains.

On December 26, at dusk, two elves and a death god departed from Imladris in pursuit of the Fellowship.

 **XXXXXX**

 **Sorry if a lot of that looked like Gandalf bashing. It's not supposed to. It's just him being suspicious. You would be too. Don't lie. ROBTS knows all.**

 **Lol no. But really, I answered all questions from the reviews, I think.**

 **~RegalOneByTheStream**


	3. Chapter 3

**_RegalOneByTheStream_ **

**Another chapter! I'm not dead! Yaaaaaaa...**

 **Thanks for reviews and constructive criticism!**

 **Also, to that one awesome Guest reviewer with the good ideas, thank you for the thwack on the head. I needed that. A lot. I'm moving houses so it's really hard to distinguish whether or not all my shit is at my house or at the new place or buried three feet deep in boxes, and I'm pretty sure my LotR stuff is buried. So I'm not getting it back for a while. A thousand apologies. In retrospect, however, I'm taking advice from the guest and giving Elrond and Gandalf some conspiracy time to talk about their new sorta-kinda-maybe death god friend. And here's to humor. Elrond is great and actually a bit tsundere. Ack.**

 **We get a little twin terror time and some Hichigo/Tensa Zangetsu time as well in this chap, and a little bit of drunk!Ichigo (when he goes on his long Japanese soliloquy that everyone pretty much just noted on and skipped over, he actually started ranting something about potatoes and unfairness, so there's that too. I don't have the actual translation because I forgot to write it down--sue me--but I remember potatoes and that it's just some random shit).**

 **I put a lot of explanation in here, for that one guest who was like MORE LOTR.**

 **Also, new character! And a development: I switched Dark Lords. Melkor's awesome in the worst, evillest, most despicable way possible. His character is based off of my vague interpretation of the biblical Satan. He also has a version of DID. Not the verb in all caps. It's a disorder. No spoilers.**

 **Again, thanks for the reviews and constructive criticism!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **XXXXXX**

Elrond's habit of having dreamless sleep was a rather annoying side-effect of losing his other half. It was also seen as an extremely morbid reminder of the differences between his and his wife's emotional states. She had lost all sense of pleasure, amusement, joy, relief, everything good but her love, which had been the only thing allowing an exhausted smile to tug at her lips when she had seen Elrond in the infirmary, just before she had gone across the sea. Those emotions were completely Elrond's to control, but only when he was awake. He had had night terrors one time, and one time waking up drenched in sweat, holding swears on the tip of his tongue, with his heart racing and the pain pulled to the forefront of his mind like a bandage ripped off of a scanning wound was enough. Especially since the person he had had to take counsel from was Kurosaki, and when Kurosaki had nightmares they were about his friends dying in the most gruesome of ways, spawned from one of the wars he'd been through, which was a terror in itself. That made Elrond's dreams about his wife dying seem much more inferior, no matter how many people told him that they most certainly were not. Whenever Elrond dreamt after that, his mind and body had decided, it was only happy memories. For the sake of pride and sanity.

Elrond liked to dream of the times with his young children and Kurosaki in particular. It was always funny to watch, mostly because in the best of the best memories, the being was similar to a child trying to wear big boy pants. And it was an undisputable fact that his children were the most adorable little monsters in Middle Earth. The ones he was most fond of were the ones where they were tormenting the God of Death, or vice versa.

The day before had been extremely taxing on Elrond's nerves, considering the dark looks Kurosaki shot him when he thought no one was looking and the obsession Boromir was having with making sure everything, absolutely everything, was perfectly accounted for. The young son of the Steward of Gondor also pointedly ignored Frodo in general as he skirted the hobbits and checked his pack for any disturbances once again. It was quite obviously a greed-fueled nervous tic. Elrond understood. Kurosaki had an equally annoying one, which was that he tended to tap his foot extremely quickly or bounce around nervously when he was bored or tense.

But seeing both Kurosaki fidgeting and Boromir being a compulsive brat were two types of stress that he did not need. In exchange for his boredness, they pressed down on Elrond, worrying him to the brink of excessive pacing, because he wasn't nervous, and the fact that they were was in itself aggravating, making him double check that there wasn't anything to be agitated about. And Gandalf's suspicious snooping was not helping. At least Kurosaki and the twins had left a note saying that they were to be sparring for the rest of the day after the Fellowship's departure. That was one thing he didn't need to worry about. The twins could school Kurosaki if they tried, since he would never use his full strength on them. Nevertheless, by the end of the day, Elrond had a rather painful stress knot in his back.

Fortunately, that night, he dreamt a rather humorous memory.

" _We're throwing a party for the wounded, and you're up here drunk?" Elrond ranted, pacing back and forth on the floor of Ichigo's room as if he wanted to wear a hole through the floor. It seemed to be a talent that he had retained through the years. "What are you thinking? Are you thinking at all?"_

 _"The lights are making my eyes water, Ellie," Kurosaki groaned from his perch on the bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. "Pudd'em out."_

 _"The lights are fine, Kurosaki. You're just crying."_

 _"It was an a-a...ashidenturu! Demo...watashi no sekinindesu."_

 _Elrond scowled, a trait he'd perfected after watching Kurosaki for this long. Which was not long at all. It had been a fortnight since the most recent battle with the orcs had halted, the pocket of foes slain completely and the bodies burnt, and the wounded and dead carried back to Imladris for a warrior's burial. They had finished with their sadness. This was a celebration of the safe revival of the returned warriors, casting off their mourning robes at the two week mark and celebrating the lives saved instead of those lost. And the alcohol had been brought out once the music started to transition from patriotic waltzes and slow serenades that made Elrond's blood sing with joy to the faster songs, the ones with the quick, confusing footwork and untraditional amounts of skirt flippery from the women. At least Kurosaki had had the decency to slink upstairs with a full bottle of drink rather than allow himself to consummate his misery on the dance floor. "I do not understand your foreign language, Kurosaki. Please revert to the Common Language, even if you are drunk. And stop crying! This is a festival of life, not sorrow."_

 _"I'm not crying!" he denied vehemently, unfaithful tears streaming down his cheeks. "I's dirt, an', an'...watashi wa jagaimo ga kudamono ya yasaidearu ka dō ka wakaranaiga, kono nomimono wa sorera kara tsukura rete irunode, potetojūsu wa arukōru to mazatte iru? Watashi no rikai o tasuketekudasai!"_

 _Elrond's voice softened. "I don't understand the insane speech of a drunkard, Kurosaki." He could feel his old friend's tensions rising. It was not going to be pretty if he got angry again, especially when thoroughly intoxicated._

 _"I miss the feeling of waiting to be attacked whenever I walk in the room."_

 _Elrond froze. That sentence had had perfect clarity to it. But what was this...was Kurosaki suffering from PTSD? "I mish speakin' Jap'nese and I mish high sh-sh-school and I mish Tatsuki 'n' Ruk'ya 'n' my friends. They's prob'ly all d-dead. I wanna stop sleeping. I wanna go home, Elrond."_

 _Elrond's breath caught. "You...you think you're dreaming?" He smacked his face into his hand as Kurosaki nodded vigorously, almost spilling the liquor all over himself and the bed, the bottle leaning precariously on Ichigo's leg. "Well, it's not a dream," Elrond snapped, "Don't be a brat." Ichigo huffed and turned onto his side, the bottle shifting again, and instead of letting it fall, he grabbed it roughly. Elrond glimpsed the red shine of fresh ale on his cheeks, smelled the sour alcohol, and watched as his friend brought the drink to his lips, tipping it back at an excruciating angle to take a rather long drag of the liquid. "It's her day, y'know," he said tipping the mouth of the bottle towards Elrond, "th' day she was killed. Watched it happen, y'know. All my fault..."_

 _"You're drunk, Kurosaki." Elrond sighed as his friend's eyes went glassy and he lifted the bottle to his lips once more. Snagging the neck of it, Elrond righted the bottle, which had been again tipped to an improper degree, and snatched it away. A sniff at the neck branded it as hard ale, the ones locked deep in the dark corners of the cellars, where they would stay for as long as Elrond lived. He had drunk several bottles of them when Celebrían departed, but had cut himself off from hard liquor when he realized its effects on his relationships. He should have thrown them out long ago; should have known the younger elves would go for the back almost instantly. He shook the contents, deeming it about three-fourths empty, and subsequently dubbed Kurosaki a magnificent lightweight. "Ooooi!" Kurosaki peered at him slowly, his eyes half lidded. "If goat-chin can smoke on today, then I can get drunk on today! Givvit back!"_

 _Elrond sighed again and pushed the bottle into the hem of his robes, tucking it out of Kurosaki's sight._

 _"Ellie," Kurosaki whined, opening his mouth again to go on a large, drunken tirade._

 _"Never call me that again," Elrond snapped. Catching his temper before it caused his mouth to say some things that should never be said, he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation before restarting, in a quieter tone, You can exit your room when you clean up this," he gestured at the Death God's sprawled out form, "and when you don't stink of alcohol. But for now, sleep."_

 _The God of Death glared at him, eyes lidded, and huffs like a sulking child. Elrond lashed out, hitting Kurosaki on the neck and knocking him unconscious. But as his eyes rolled upward, a smirk curled across the young man's face, one that, in all of his years as Kurosaki's friend, he had never seen on him and never hoped to see on him ever again. It had not happened in this memory. Which meant that something was interfering with Elrond's sleep._

 _Kurosaki's smirk widened, stretching across his cheeks in a creepy sort of Mad Hatter grin. His eyes flashed dangerously and his lips opened, moving sedately to soundlessly forming words_.

I. Am. GONE.

Elrond shot straight up in bed, throwing the blankets away from himself and flinging himself off of the mattress, the knife beside his bed in his hand and poised to strike before he even realized that the room was empty and the words, so delicately and realistically whispered in his ear, had been spoken by no one. Gripping the knife tightly, he flung the door open and ran.

Furiously slamming open doors, he muttered expletives in all the languages he could, even the ones in Kurosaki's language that he only remembered because they were some of the damn brat's choice curses. Elrond was uncharacteristically haggard, and he knew it, but he didn't care. He was too busy sprinting through his home, looking in all the places Kurosaki usually stayed if he could not sleep and the places he did not, resolving just how to beat the shit out of the man in fistfuls of relief if he indeed found him. Pangs of horror and rage shot through him as he crashed into the twins' room, finding it empty and uncharacteristically clean. As if there was an underlying " _sorry, dad_ " tucked away, hiding in the folds of the dark, cool room, maybe under the well-made bed or behind the curtains fluttering gently in the wind from the window. Elrond swept out, slamming the door behind him and grinding his teeth. His sons were always gone or leaving. It didn't mean anything. The last place to look was Kurosaki's room, and Elrond already had a fair inkling of what he would find.

As expected, it was messy, Kurosaki-less, and thoroughly missing of the apologetic aura in the rumpled bedsheets and countless books and papers and writing utensils strewn across the quilts and carpets.

Elrond clenched his fists and let out a long, hissing breath.

He could not freak out. He could not leave Imladris. He could not protect his sons. He could not protect Kurosaki. He could not...could not...could not...

So he stalked his way back to his room, flung himself across the bed that he had always known was much too big for one person--but it was there to stay--and went back to sleep.

He would figure out just how to thwart Kurosaki's annoying interferences in the morning.

 **XXXXXX**

Elladan had woken to his leg throbbing in a steady beat, twinges of pain sending tears to his eyes and inadvertently twitching his toes.

They had stopped to set up camp in a rocky clearing. The initial idea of taking horses had been forgone, since feeding them would be a pain and they were only a day's distance behind the Fellowship so they would catch up soon enough. What with them having to drag around four out of shape hobbits, an old man, and a fat dwarf, the time would be reduced even further. And Elladan's leg was mostly okay. Foresight had been 20/20, and Elrohir had stuffed into a pouch at his waist medicinal herbs by the bucketful, so it would be fine.

Even so, they were still cautious of it. So they had decided that taking the time to rest was best. They had built themselves a little redundant fortress, pushing boulders together to form a sort of barrier from potential attacks and to rest against. Elrohir, the great lump, had plopped down spread-eagle and gone straight to sleep, his only justice being the lack of snoring. Being the calmer and more practical of the two, Elladan slept sitting up, his good leg curled to his body and his bad one straight, arms tying himself into a ball (albeit the leg sticking out) and a thin, warm blanket preserving whatever heat it could. Ichigo slept in a crouch, his foreign black robes billowing around him and his fiery hair ducking into the territory of his eyes. It was unnerving, and no doubt uncomfortable, but he'd explained that it was a habit from back during one of his people's wars. If it saved them from any of his war stories that Elrohir vied to hear and that made Elladan sick to his stomach, he would rather not ask anything more about it.

Right now, though, he was preoccupied with the anguishing feeling of his heartbeat reflected in his shaking leg, tattooing an uncomfortable rhythm under his skin that flared with every twitch and centered around the wound in question. He cautiously adjusted his position, lying with his back to one of the walls of their makeshift hideaway and his uninjured leg tucked next to his bad one in an attempt to quell the trembling. He ended up pulling off his boot and sock and using his toes to snatch a few of the aforementioned medicinal herbs from Elrohir's pouch, the ones that numbed. Then he brushed them off and began mashing them in his mouth, ignoring the numbness starting to spread inside it and keeping his tongue out of the way so that he didn't inadvertently bite it as he mashed the leaves into a paste. As he chewed, he tentatively worked at his trousers, pulling them down over his thighs and carefully pulling his undergarments up slightly to reveal the diseased-looking area, bruises either a sharp maroon, a sick green, or the renewing yellow, all alien, with sanitized horsehair stitches holding his skin together and putting a stopper on the flow of blood. They were performed by his father, and so were tied with an expert hand. That much was a given. Spitting the wad into his hand, he gently spread it on the ugly site, prodding the mixture around the surface of the general area and lightly massaging it into the flesh, ignoring the pain that heated his bones like fire had been poured into his veins, knowing that it would eventually calm and die once he smothered it with his gross, smelly herb paste. Sighing at the sensation of the pain relief, Elladan relaxed muscles he hadn't even realized were tense and began to allow sleep to reclaim him.

His eyes snapped open. He had seen Kurosaki fall asleep in that exact spot. Where was he? Attackers? Surely not. He would have roused them.

Slipping a small knife out from his belt (a blade that was properly used for gutting and skinning game rather than defending oneself from people, but a weapon was a weapon, all the same), Elladan scooted to the side of their roofless shelter, his pointed ears flexing as his eyes darted about, keeping Elrohir's ugly sleeping form in sight while straining his senses to find some sort of clue over where his mentor had gone.

His eyes alit on Ichigo's form, and he relaxed. The man was sitting cross legged, leaning against his larger blade and perching the other in his lap, seeming to be the very incarnation of regality and serenity. It was his centering move, the one with the funny word Elladan couldn't pronounce that Ichigo said centered his thoughts. He looked almost like he was asleep. Elladan knew better than to get within a meter of him. Once, Elrohir had thought it would be funny to sneak up on him during one of these sessions and scare him even though, through Elladan's observation, he could somehow recognize people's presences without seeing them, so there was hardly any point to it. Elrohir had tried anyways. The dark bruises on the pale flesh of his neck hadn't left for weeks, Ichigo hadn't been able to look Elrohir in the eyes for at least a month, and they all knew that the only reason that Elrohir's throat wasn't cut open was because Elladan had screamed. _Loudly_.

Elrohir joked about it. He was the only one to do so.

The three of them had come up with a silent agreement that no one else was to know. Not even Elrond.

Elladan pushed himself back into the shelter and allowed himself to drift back into a hazy, numbed sleep, only surrendering himself to his dreams completely when the distant form of Kurosaki approached him, touching his forehead softly and then crouching where he had been before, glistening blades leaned against the wall beside him.

 **XXXXXX**

Gandalf was confused. Disoriented. Thoroughly and completely shocked.

Well, not shocked. At least not yet. The word shocked implicated that he knew something, which he didn't, because the only thing Kurosaki had disclosed about himself was that he was from some town called Karakura, and that he was some sort of "God of Death". But that was a lie, because the only Death God he knew of lay in the Halls of Mandos, in the Land Across the Sea. In all honesty, he didn't trust this Kurosaki character one bit. The Halflings, and Aragorn, of all people, may have had their minds twisted into thinking that the man was harmless, but Gandalf was not a hobbit, not a human, nor a dwarf, nor a young, inexperienced elf. Gandalf could smell the underlying power in the being, and he could sense the terrible, monstrous darkness. He had eavesdropped on the meeting, and Gandalf had seen only interest when Kurosaki looked at the Ring of Power, not the proper disgust.

He scribbled a little doodle on the edge of his journal as he pored over the rather large tome he had "borrowed" from Elrond's library, one commonly referred to as 'that book' as Elrond was not a fan of it, considering the fate of his wife. They were mostly made up of things he already knew, from his time under the name of Olórin. But it was nice to have something that could double-check his previous knowledge, even if it was as simple as having the alphabet by your side as you write a letter. Plus, it helped him to focus.

He was currently looking into the backstory of the alleged "death god". Gandalf hadn't been idle about the situation of the enigmatic alleger, Kurosaki Ichigo. He'd gone straight up to Elrond in private and confronted him about the situation.

"We both know that that boy is not natural," he had begun, staring Elrond down as they stood in a dark, abandoned hallway, daring him to argue, "do not deny a thing. Where has he come from? Why is he here?"

"Gandalf," Elrond had replied softly, placatingly, "you heard the boy as he drank. Is not alcohol the foundation of truth? He is from the east, from Karakura."

"He said west, Elrond," Gandalf snipped, his eyes narrowed. Elrond froze. "West, then, that was what I meant," the Elven lord amended, and Gandalf shook his head. "No, he actually did say east. You do know even know if what town he claims to hail from is true? Elrond! You have not been a fool in the past, do not be one now!"

"Gandalf, it is my choice who walks the halls of Imladris!" Elrond snapped, turning away.

"What is he, Elrond?"

Gandalf's tone was soft. Inviting. He poured a minuscule, unnoticeable bit of magic into the words for good measure. He needed to know whether or not Kurosaki would be a threat to the cause.

Elrond's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously, and for a moment Gandalf thought his minuscule, unnoticeable bit of schoolboy cheating had been caught by the strictest teacher around. But luck was still in his favor, and so Elrond spoke. "If I knew completely, I would tell you," he replied. "The man claims that he is a spiritual mediator. God of Death is only an arrogant title, he says. He…" Elrond cleared his throat in order to speak in a softer tone. "He said he'd been killed, twice. And he...Gandalf, he is the One with Hair of Flame." Gandalf's eyes widened. "You don't mean…" Elrond shook his head, placing a hand on the shoulder of the wizened wizard, whose brain was working a mile a minute. It was not the old being's fault. He had not seen Kurosaki without a shawl, like in the Council, or with proper lighting, like at the nightly feasts, where Kurosaki had grown closer to each of the members of the Fellowship--although it was the hobbits, mostly--and where he had revealed his hometown and released a new round of headaches upon Elrond. But Elrond had orchestrated the strategically dimmed lighting that way, rendering the hair of flames to what was certainly not fire, colored a dull orange, brownish orange at best. Gandalf had not seen the effect light and wind had on his locks, tousling them and whipping them angrily, exactly like a dancing wildfire. But he had heard the stories. He knew of the flame's fierce bite. "Now you see why I cannot send him away. He cannot be allowed to leave Imladris unless he goes to Valinor. Someone this powerful, with so many unknowns...he would be unstoppable."

"Or brainwashed by the Ring," Gandalf concluded. "What of his intentions towards the beings in Middle Earth?"

Elrond furrowed his brow. "He likes Elves, mostly because of our patronage to him here in Imladris, but he was once human, so he has a certain affinity for them. He is impartial towards everything else, save orcs." He scowled. "He was close with my wife, Celebrían. Her torture and departure were devastating to all of us, including him. Hence his loathe of them." Elrond shook his head as if leading away the bad memories. "It seems that the elvish disdain for dwarves had not been passed on," Gandalf supplied. The jibe worked. His friend's face immediately lightened, the dark clouds of old grief and stewing hatred retreating into the darkest parts of Elrond's mind. "Not completely," the elf shot back, "I'm working on it."

Gandalf sighed. "And you are certain he is not an Ainur? Not even one Eru has made without either of our knowledge, one instigated after I was made Gandalf?"

Elrond made a face. "Positive. The first time I spoke of it he thought it was a food. He did not know who Eru was, and when it was explained, he compared Him to a deity from his own...area, literally called God." Gandalf shook his head. Karakura must have been a city of small-minded people, for one of their offspring to have no knowledge of the name of the Creator, simply calling Him God. But Elrond was visibly growing weary of this chatter; his interrogation had reached its final point. "Thank you, Elrond."

The elf had then scowled at him, if Gandalf remembered correctly, and had uttered a warning. "Take my advice and, for your own good, don't speak of this conversation to him. He doesn't like it when people talk about behind his back...it reminds him of his teacher, Urahara. And that name I remember only because he once carved the name, strange symbols, and then a crude outline of the man into a brick wall, and started having Elrohir and Elladan shoot at it." Gandalf snickered, and Elrond glared at him. "It was destruction of property," he sniffed, "I forced them to tear the wall down completely and to rebuild it from scratch."

Gandalf couldn't stop laughing. It was a great joke, thinking of the One with Hair of Flame, who was by now nothing but a myth, that scowl plastered across his face as he manually build his wall, brick by brick. He could not contain his chuckles even there, recounting the talk as he watched over the fire and the sleeping Fellowship, the soft snicks of Aragorn sharpening his blades and the young Legolas fidgeting with his bow, Gimli snoring obnoxiously and the hobbits curled together protectively. Smiling softly, he waved a hand, a small tendril of magic brushing softly against Frodo's face, seeping into his mind and sorting his thoughts to relax it. He had watched the boy go from toddlerhood to childhood to his teenage years to the fine, strapping young man he was today. Was he not allowed this much, to nostalgically watch him further, like a grandfather watches his young grandson grow?

Calming, he sobered quite a bit, reprocessing his information and comparing it to his own memories, findings, and what was written in the tome, the pages barely illuminated in the soft light of the fire, thankfully hidden in the remains of a house in a town previously ravaged by orcs unlike the obvious glaring campfire Aragorn told him the Halflings had created in the ruins, which had attracted the Ringwraiths like flies to honey. So, according to Elrond, the boy had a temper, was as powerful as at least an Ainur, and moved to kill when it was at the expense of life, as seen with his protection of Isildur. How much did Saruman know about the boy? Most likely not much, as Elrond had testified to how secretive he was… But if they got their hands on him and broke him…

Gandalf shuddered and switched tracks. The boy claimed to be a God of Death. So he must have at least glimpsed in his mind the plains of Valinor...even though he had come from a separate dimension. This was troubling, and it was complete speculation on Gandalf's part, but knowing the Halls of Mandos, and knowing what lay inside, Gandalf was concerned. Kurosaki, knowing his power, might have come from the depths of the Halls of Mandos, from deep in the Void. And if, indeed, he was, his allegiance might not be with them.

 **XXXXXX**

Elrohir had been keeping a sharp watch over the state of his companions. Not just his brother, but Kurosaki as well. Their mentor was really set on looking at that ring again. It was frightening, thinking of Kurosaki becoming so obsessed with the object that he slowly went mad. But he hadn't descended into the madness yet. So Elrohir watched, and he waited, and he prayed he would never have to fight Kurosaki with no holds barred.

 **XXXXXX**

The Void was dark and dirty, full of the worms of society and the darkest monsters. Demons and nightwalkers and the creepy crawlies that slit your throat when you least expect it all originate from there; it was the birthplace of evil and violence and endless bloodlust.

Melkor walked along aimlessly, swinging around the body of the foolish dragon that had opposed him and sighing dejectedly as it squealed in what was no doubt pain. There was just nothing to do anymore! With his physical body asleep, since the Ainur--Valar, depending on whichever idiot you asked to give you a history lesson--body was too pure for the stank of the Void. Oh, how ironic, as he was Fallen and impure anyways. But the most he could do to exercise was play with his little friends in this dumb spiritual projection. Ugh. So annoying, his damn brothers! Melkor clenched his fists unintentionally, and with a wheeze and a snap, he felt the life leave the dragon's throbbing veins. Whoopsie. Melkor tossed the corpse aside. Being annoying was what family was for, after all. They would see it his way. Eventually.

Groaning as he felt his spirit nearing the boundaries of how far it could go from the body without cutting the link and damning him, Melkor gave a small yank on the thick chain that originated from his chest and spiraled back to his body. It was the most annoying thing. Of course, it was fun to play jump-rope with if he was feeling particularly bouncy, and it made pranks indulging, as it seemed he was the only one who could see it, thus rendering everything else susceptible to tripping by invisible chain.

Whoop de fucking doo. Another day, another ducat, figuratively of course since Melkor was stuck at the bottom of the damnable Void, and the Heavens only knew when he would be able to reemerge into civilization. He hadn't seen a ducat since...since...how long had it been, again? Whatever. Some two millennia. And since the currency of the Void was "give it to me or die," beings that considered money valid down here were either stupid, insane, or incredibly ballsy.

His inner self decided that that point was a perfect time to interject, A.K.A be a huge dick like usual. OH, FUCKING HELL, WE JUST WANTED TO RIP AND TEAR AND BURN AND DESTROY DESTROY DESTROY DESTROY--

 _Shh_ , he told himself, _inner peace. Remember last time we let Part Two take control?_ He had pushed down the Two Lamps, Illuin and Ormal, and made Aulë cry, and then he and Ungoliant had torn up Laurelion and Telperion.

OH, BIG FUCKING DEAL. THE TREES FOSTERED FRUITS INTO THE SUN AND MOON SO GODDAMN PROBLEM SOLVED. THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO BE WHINY FUCKMUPPETS AND SHOVE US IN A PIT SO WE COULDN'T RIP AND TEAR AND BURN AND--

 _Ungoliant did most of the Tree smashing too,_ he agreed, _so I don't see why they hunted after me instead_.

THE LAMPS, STUPID.

 _Oh, right_.

GRAAAAH, FUCKING ELVES AND THEIR FUCKING TREES. I HATE ELVES. STUPID ELVES ARE THE FIRST THING WE'RE GOING TO RIP AND TEAR AND BURN AND DESTROY.

 _Agreed_. Melkor stretched his arms high above his head until the spine of his unphysical body popped, a shoot of pain followed by instant relief accentuating the movement. The Halls of Mandos was a particularly large place, full of killers and brutes, and then there were the simple nice guys in bad situations like him. Those condemned because of a simple miscommunication of circumstances, and intentions, and objectives. Because it wasn't his problem if everyone else was wrong. He would just beat them up until the light they saw wasn't stars flashing before their eyes but the truth. But seriously, Angband was more comfortable than this place, and Angband was a fortress suited specifically for war. At least Angband had chairs. Sauron did at least that right.

SAURON, SHMAURON, THAT LITTLE TWERP MADE EVERYTHING HE COULD OUT OF IRON. THE ONLY FEATHERS IN THAT PLACE WERE ON THE ARROWS. MANDOS DIDN'T EVEN GIVE US STUFF TO MAKE CHAIRS WITH BUT STUPID ROCKS, AND FUCK THAT SHIT.

 _Exactly_!

Sighing as Melkor #2 ranted about decent furniture in his mind, Melkor #1, A.K.A. the sane one I RESENT THAT YOU LITTLE BITCH slapped aside a particularly close challenger, grumbling as the body, most likely already dead, slammed into one of the stone pillars that held the ceiling up with a large crack that could not have been just from the impact and bones and stuff, followed by a load of flying dust and some unhealthy crunchy noises. With a horrified shriek, Melkor sprinted away as the pillar tilted, falling with an unholy sound and crashing to the ground behind him.

When the dust finally settled, Melkor felt a strangled noise emerge from his throat. Realizing that it was laughter, he let it loose, cackling to his heart's content. "Yo, Eru?" He screamed, "Do I have to pay for property damage?"

Ballsy it was.

"Temee--aho ka!"

This time, Melkors #1 and #2 were in perfect tandem. _THE FUCK_?

Taking a closer look, it seemed that the pillar was rolling. And from underneath came a peculiarity: an extremely pale being with demonic yellow and black eyes, wearing some sort of white robes. He had a gigantic sword strapped to his back and his pale face scowled angrily, but Melkor's attention was mostly drawn to the extremely defined abs that the robe, loosely tied at the waist with some black and red belt-sash combo, showed off.

OOOH. WE LIKEY.

 _We are_ not _gay_.

NOT YET.

 _Graaah_!

The pale one smirked at them.

YOUR HEART SKIPPED A BEAT! I WAS RIGHT!

 _Shut the fuck up, you fragment of my own imagination._

HEY, ASSHOLE, WATCH THE INSULTS, THAT ONE ACTUALLY TICKLED A BIT--

The pale one disappeared, causing Melkor's heart to drop. But no, it wasn't the fact that his new object of interest had disappeared that had done that, because only now had he registered that he was plastered against a stone background with a what seemed to be a few broken ribs and what would most likely become a sizable, nasty bruise across his ribcage and back if he were human, and holy fuck his new bed was crumbling. Ripping himself out of the stone, he used a bit of the magic he had retained from his time as resident Dark Lord before landing the job of Supreme Dark Lord to speed himself along and launched himself towards the white dot on the horizon. "Let's not get crushed," he advised the pale one as he grabbed the guy like a sack of potatoes, flinging him over his shoulder and fleeing without a change in momentum, "getting crushed is not on my to-do list."

The pale one screeched bloody murder as they escaped, but allowed Melkor to carry him to safety. "So," Melkor began after he'd slowed to a normal pace, "What's your name?"

The pale one elbowed Melkor hard in the gut, rolling off of his back as he doubled over. "Nanda?! Uzendaro!" he snarled.

He decided not to point out the language barrier preventing him from understanding that statement. "My name's Melkor. If you're nice I'll let you call me Melly!"

IF HE ACTUALLY CALLS US MELLY I SWEAR TO ERU'S CURLY NIPPLE HAIR THAT I'LL--

"Iie, fakkufeisu," the pale one snorted.

Melkor didn't really understand the reason why everyone had such an aversion to the nickname Melly--Melkor quite liked the name, actually--but he sniggered anyways. "What's your name, then? Is it even worse than Melly? I bet it is, and you're suuuuper embarrassed! Ha! Don't feel bad, though, for I, the great Dark Lord Melkor, understand and appreciate the secrecy. It's very sexy."

The Melkor's delight, the pale one turned a shade paler. _So he does understand me_.

"Urusai," the pale one snapped, turning away.

"Aw, did I push your buttons?"

Melkor deeply regretted his life decisions as a great white blade whistled through the air, stopping just before slicing his throat. "Urusai, baka yarou!" the pale one snarled.

Wisely, he only gave the pale one a thumbs up and a flirty wink, covering for his initial shock and fe--

THE GREAT DARK LORD IS NOT AFRAID. WELL, I'M NOT. MELKOR #1 IS JUST A QUIVERING LITTLE KITTEN.

 _He was talking to you when he told us to shut up_.

The pale one began to walk away. Melkor kept pace just a few feet behind him. "Ne!" the pale one finally shouted, whirling around with his cleaver swinging. This time, though, Melkor expected a sword waving around in his face, and he dodged. The pale one stared him down for a bit, then grinned. The shiver that ran down Melkor's spine was more shocking than the speed of his next attack. In a relentless barrage of swings that made Melkor quite certain that this being had had no formal training whatsoever in the sword, the white demon, for Melkor was certain of its race now, laughed manically and pushed Melkor back.

Melkor #2 was not amused.

RIP HIM TO PIECES! HOW DARE HE ATTACK US AND PREVAIL?! GRAAAAAAHH!

Shoving down his inner idiot, Melkor caught the blade, trusting his hands, whose skin was harder than any iron, to stop or even crack the blade apart.

The sword cut through his body like warm butter, slicing through his fingers and only stopping when it had sunk into his clavicle. Melkor howled.

MY TURN.

Melkor whined, a long, whistling note, as he and his inner self grappled for control. Groaning as the white demon ripped its tremendous blade from his body and prepared for a following swing, apparently taking its precious time, he fell to his knees and moaned. He clutched at his head with phantom fingers, swiping blood across his temples and forehead and cheeks as it spurted from his decapitated knuckles, trying to maintain control

I WILL

 _You will not_

I WILL

 _We will not_

ONE DAY I WILL

 _You will not receive any more chances and neither will I_

YOU WILL BE THE ONE PUSHED DOWN

 _I_ _will not let you continue to kill_

I WILL PREVAIL!

 _You will stay dormant!_

He forced his inner demon into the cage of the corner of his mind and slammed the door shut. "Stay in there," he muttered to it, sweat and blood and curses dripping down his chin, and then he looked at his fingers and chest. Whoops. He'd sort of missed the "your fingers were all cut off and the nubs are bleeding profusely" memo, what with his bitchy part two. Sighing, he healed them, flexing his remade fingers casually. He noticed the pale one staring, follow-up swing not quite followed-up-on as he'd been more preoccupied with staring at his opponent becoming shitfaced for no reason. "I wouldn't be a Dark Lord if I couldn't at least do this, now would I?" He explained, "And besides, this isn't a physical body. It's somewhere in that direction," he waved his hand dismissively somewhere off to the left, in the general direction his chain led, "so I'm not going to die anytime soon." Waving at the demon, he sang, "Bye bye for now!" and ignored the angry shouting of Melkor #2 in his mind and the obnoxious banging on his cage. The white demon muttered something unintelligible and then snorted.

When Melkor turned around, he had disappeared.

"What a bitch," he muttered, and then he started towards his body.

 **XXXXXX**

As soon as Ichigo left the inner world to go back to being a vigilante, Tensa Zangetsu let his pretenses drop and whirled around to stare down the Hollow. "So?" Tensa Zangetsu demanded, "What did you find?" Hichigo grunted, reclining on the building wall under the shining sun, only obscured with a thin sheet of fog, Ichigo's confusion and regret. It wasn't perfect, but it was much better weather than when they'd first been dropped in this shithole, someplace Ichigo paralleled with "medieval Europe". Before, clouds of confusion and rains of sorrow had almost flooded the place, and the two spirits had nearly gotten lost in the fog (not really, since it was their world and they couldn't get lost if they tried, but that was beside the point). This was a rather enjoyable change of pace. After all, Ichigo's happiness was their happiness. They loved him unconditionally.

Hichigo's unsatisfactory reply only served to allow Tensa to take hostile measures. Dodging the barrage of exploding windows, the pale berserker roared, "It was some shitty guy!" The wave of destruction halted in the face of the dawning of this new info, and he continued, "it was some sort of spirit with a hella long soul chain. Called himself Mellie, I believe. I don't know. I never bothered to learn English, since everything Ichigo hears is retranslated into Japanese in the control room anyways."

Tensa stroked his chin. "A new spirit?" he asked, his voice laced with doubt and displeasure.

Hichigo snorted. The old man was so possessive of Ichigo it was already well past perverse. "I don't think so," Hichigo replied, "'cause it's solid. My best guess is that I somehow materialized. I wouldn't really put stock in it, but I think we can materialize in that place. It smells like death." He paused, then wrinkled his nose. "Well, not the Aizen kind of death. The nice kind. Despite what all lived there." Tensa Zangetsu stroked his chin. "What lived there?"

"Dragons. Demons. These fugly sword-toting assholes."

"Ah."Tensa Zangetsu sighed, tapping his chin. "We need to suppress that part, then, don't we." It was not a question. Both his tone and the gleam in his eye proved that. In turn, Hichigo shot him a sharp look, and Tensa reeled back on his decision. "There is no other spirit," the old man reasoned, "and so that thing is a danger to Ichigo. We have to make sure we close the opening from our world to that one."

Hichigo snorted. "It's not like we can just attack it. And it's not like a garganta or a senkaimon. It's...weird. Just weird." Gnawing at his thumb thoughtfully, he ignored the sparks of pain and the metallic taste of blood as he bit through skin. His instant regeneration could not repair the little wound because of his teeth in the way. It was a sharpening feeling and a reinvigorating taste, this pain and that blood. It helped him focus. Tensa Zangetsu was avoiding looking at him, too, which was a plus. Any time he could freak out the old man, he would. Just for shits and giggles. It was also interesting how the old man could impale someone and leave them stuck to a wall in hiding for at least a year, and then turn around and be grossed out by the same person biting through his own hand. Just showed how much of a prick he really was.

Hichigo really didn't like that old man. He was only tolerable because he was helpful, both to him and to Ichigo. He'd gotten used to him being there, like an incessant fly buzzing in his ear.

They both had noticed that portal the second it had appeared, when Ichigo had first been dropped into this batshit new universe. It was their world, the Inner World. Not getting lost and noticing the immediate differences in it, no matter how far away, were two perks of being the guardian spirits. At first it had started as something barely noticeable, and although Tensa Zangetsu had thoroughly examined it, Hichigo had deemed it as ignorable and boring, especially as it kind of just froze in its growth when they started staying in Imladris. But as soon as Ichigo had taken one step outside of the city, BOOM. The thing grew like a fucking weed and started making a racket down in Concentration, which was most likely why Ichigo hadn't visited them until just then. They had managed to section off a part of Ichigo's reiatsu, a particularly sizable portion by normal standards but a rather unnoticeable one considering Ichigo's abnormal amounts of reiatsu, and they had repurposed it into stunting the dark seed's growth, successfully. But by that time, it had grown into a portal. After a long, tedious argument, it became Hichigo's job to explore and gather intel while Tensa held down the fort, comforting Ichigo when he came in for visits and keeping an eye on the Control Room. He could not learn that they were having problems, and they could not allow him to search it out himself. And Tensa Zangetsu had to keep him away from Hichigo. Ichigo would accidentally kill himself in a heartbeat if it would put a tick on Hichigo's head.

Frowning as Hichigo stalked back towards Concentration, Tensa Zangetsu ran a hand through his long black hair and held in a sigh. A little huff escaped his nose anyways.

It began to drizzle.

 **XXXXXX**

 **Well then. CUT!**

 **Sorry that this took a month. The next update will take longer, what with moving and summer. I actually am going on a trip to Costa Rica this summer! Woot! And I have a trip to a Washington D.C. with my class...probably won't mess up much, but just in case...and summer soccer for my high school...and a soccer tournament...anyways, RL is swamped, so I might not update this story for a while. It was actually intended to stay a oneshot, so I'm really pleased by its progression and the FFRs it's gotten!**

 **Thanks again for reading!**

 **~ _RegalOneByTheStream_**


	4. Chapter 4

**RegalOneByTheStream**

 **Thanks for positive feedback!**

 **TO CEPS: I suck at fact checks. Left off a zero, so I rolled with it, basing my timings around that. I'm lazy. But no excuses. I'll fix it with this upload. THANKS!**

 **@ Siva Black, Melkor's situation is strange, but I can tell you that his second self is NOT a hollow. It's a facet of himself...if that makes any sense to you? Lol. Like DID disorder; split personalities. But it's definitely not hollow because this being is centered purely on destruction (hence RIP AND TEAR AND BURN AND DESTROY), while hollows are more focused on consuming and rising to the top of the food chain. Hope that helps. As for your other question, Hichigo and Tensa Zangetsu hate hurting Ichigo's mental state (the rain). I mean, it started raining, so they still goofed on that, but I mean any further. I know I would flip my shit if I had a portal in my brain that had monsters behind it. They've got to figure some stuff out before they decide it's safe to tell him.**

 **Tbh, I actually had no intention of adding any Bleach characters. But then i was like, whelp, they're prolly freaking out, right? So, taking into account the differences in Universe clocks and lots of emotional garbage, mostly Rukia's (lowkey ship ichiruki...because fuck no, Orihime, Palcatraz is where you BELONG) I pulled a short one. Like 100 words of Bleach in here. Just for you, Z.C.L.S. Cool name, btw.**

 **Minimal bitchy sassmaster Elrond. Sad face.**

 **To other reviewers, thanks so much for support, questions, and constructive criticism! Review alerts are awesome! And follows/faves make me smile. Thanks! Sorry again for the wait (Costa Rica is freakin gorgeous. VACATION!). I'm probably going to start making shorter chapters. Be patient, please. I'm a lazy newb at this. FIRST STORY FUN, WOOT!**

 **Jesus Christ, that was tdlr. Sorry~~and good for you, to those that skipped it.**

 **And here's the actual content! Yay!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **XXXXXX**

The trio following the Fellowship were _not_ having fun.

At first, Elrohir had convinced himself it would be like a camping trip with some stalkery undertones and a hella lot of walking, kind of how their orc hunts were escapades with paper crane head counts and a shit ton of smelly body burnings. But noooo. It wasn't even close. His brother's goddamn leg started swelling up like a balloon, causing Elrohir to start storing more herbs in his pouch for his brother's not-so-secret midnight treatments. That occurrence further solidified Elrohir's belief that they should have just taken horses, goddamnit. What was Ichigo's vendetta against horses, anyways? He'd never even seen the man ride one, not once! And it was getting colder now that the altitudes were getting higher, which sucked ass because when it rained it would sometimes spit wet globs of snow, and they really weren't properly dressed for that kind of heavy precipitation.

Then there was the deal with the supply of comestibles that they had brought with them supposedly drawing thin in the future because they had packed lightly concerning food and instead had focused on bringing ample clothing, knowing that the quest could very well drag into the freeze of February, where water would be provided in full but warmth and food would become scarce. In those times the deer would have to suffice for food, that and any food they could carry with them from the lower altitudes, where the weather was milder and plants still grew. So they were now solely living off of whatever they found in the wild, which was not a huge dilemma, but it was time consuming having to hunt the food and cook it. And just leaving the stored bread in their packs be proved harder than it had first seemed, after a few days of eating pure wildlife.

And then there was the worst problem: something was wrong with Ichigo. And it was very, very bad.

Elrohir and Elladan had both noticed it, and had commentated on it together silently. They had a sort of higher understanding of each other that no one else, not even Ichigo, could breach. A total twin thing. It was extremely useful, especially when pranks and fighting was involved. With this method of communication, the two agreed that Kurosaki Ichigo was either eating the wrong types of mushrooms or was currently not right in the head.

For one, he would sometimes wobble when he walked. In three hundred years, the twins had seen many things, but with the exception of the actions of outside forces (namely, their childish father's foot on a particularly stressful day) they had never seen him so much as stumble. He usually carried himself with extreme dignity and grace, not that of a dancer but that of a martial artist; in other words, a stance that marked him as a warrior through and through.

But they had watched as, over and over, he would trip over a nonexistent rock and just barely catch himself, or he would suddenly stop walking and seem to lose all purpose, staring at the horizon blankly and only starting again with extensive aid. His erratic behaviorisms showed in his eyes, which grew a blankness and a dullness that was so unbecoming of the man that Elladan and Elrohir briefly wondered whether or not he was ill. The worst times were when he mixed up their faces, something he never did, calling either "Yuzu!" or "Karin!" when he wanted Elladan or Elrohir, and mumbling apologies without explanations when the sibling that he had called upon corrected him tentatively, incredulous, because _damn,_ he had known them for almost three millennia, _you know_? But Ichigo barely ate and slept for longer hours than he usually did, forgoing his usual battle crouch for a position like that of a fetus and whimpering pitifully in the dead of night. Kurosaki Ichigo did not _do_ pitiful. The twins knew they had to change it. Soon.

But as days passed and their gait slowed to the point where the twins nearly dragged Ichigo along, they had lost their nearness to the Fellowship by a full two days. Elrohir hunted for small animals that provided enough good meat for two young elves and one incoherent Death God, yet were light and easy to strip and eat on the go with no remains. Elladan tended to the herbs they found and to their half-delirious teacher, slipping some helpful ones into Ichigo's water cup when he was not looking, which seemed now to be all the time with how inattentive he had suddenly become. Tracking signals were getting slimmer, especially as the precipitation rates rose with the elevation and the distance they traveled; Rivendell was a rather dry area, compared to their route. The twins had tried everything; at this rate, if they didn't get their teacher back to normal, they would completely lose the Fellowship. They had no other means of breaking him out of his rut. And so to try to sharpen his instincts, Elrohir tried to steal the smaller Zangetsu.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Elladan why hymns had never been sung about his brother's intellect.

In milliseconds, the spark of life in their mentor had returned. With a palpable smack, Ichigo's hand whipped across Elrohir's cheek, sending him sprawling away, and curled around the hilt of his sword. A savage snarl ripped from his throat as his eyes, which Elladan and Elrohir had only seen holding an illuminating kindness as they glared people down, shifted to rip across them with a murderous rage they had never witnessed before. It suddenly became so much harder to breath as gravity itself shifted, pulling at the unsuspecting twins, stealing the breath from their lungs, and bringing them to their knees (Elladan with a hiss of pain as the wound in his thigh shifted and stretched suddenly), but leaving Ichigo alone. Black bled into the corners of his furious eyes as he advanced, hands holding his swords in his usual battle position. And Elrohir grinned at him anyways. "Your demons are showing, Ichigo," he said, the tremors in his voice betraying his light tone, and he used an inhuman strength to reach up and tap a finger to his temple.

Ichigo's demeanor shifted, and he prowled towards Elrohir. The twin twitched, but with the power locking him in place he could not move, he was barely even able to scream, as Ichigo leapt forward, clawed fingers poised to rake through Elrohir's throat. Elrohir made a whine in place of a scream, and Ichigo halted. He froze for a second, confused, and then he found himself. His eyes widened, and he tore his harsh gaze away from Elrohir with a flinch and a shameful look, his breaths ragged as he held a hand to his face in shock. Yes, he had been shaken into coherence for the time being, but something was off. His eyes. Why was the black staying? In the times where they had seen it, the twins had only glimpsed it for a second before Ichigo hid it and it receded, usually when he fought and got injured. The healing thing, where the cuts sealed themselves in minutes with no scars, accompanied the change, but so did the gravity. Their ears popped, and Elladan shot Elrohir a warning look. Ichigo caught it, and he visibly wrestled down a choked noise.

But the black stayed.

That was when Elrohir realized that they'd made a dire mistake, and not just because his own mentor had almost _murdered_ him. Ichigo had always managed to control his power, cutting it back to a comfortable level, even if it was always there, wrapping around everyone in the vicinity with a warm, protective embrace. But this was a menacing weight, one that promised to show no mercy and showed no sign of relenting. His eyes were still ringed with black, the chocolate brown of his eye lightened to a yellowing tan and the black halted just before it reached the edge of the sclera, a thin wall of white surrounding the iris. His hair had whitened just by his temple, a symptom that they had never seen, and with a look of horror Ichigo clapped clawed hands to the spot. "Gomen, Errohir," he choked, "watashi wa nani o subeki ka?"

Elrohir glanced at Elladan. They had never heard Ichigo speak his Ancient Language to them accidentally since they had been young-- _extremely_ young.

 _Ichigo was_ not _okay_.

Fighting back their questions, the twins shared another look. "Ichigo, my leg hurts," Elladan said slowly, "and it is getting late. The shadows already hide the tracks of the Fellowship. Let us rest."

Their mentor didn't even look at them properly, just plopped down where he stood and sat cross-legged. A second later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped back. Fine. Whatever. _Just ignore them then, why don't you, Ichigo?_ Elrohir nodded at his twin, then went to gather herbs and edibles as Elladan watched over Ichigo and guarded what they carried with them. The gravity change had done his condition no favors. Saying that his leg hurt hadn't exactly been a lie.

Pulling his pants down again, Elladan looked over the disgusting wound, wincing at the angry purple veins that poked out at him and trying not to gag as the stench of blood, his own, hit his nostrils. The back had been fine, as the puncture wound there had been small. Only the tip of the arrowhead had poked out of that side. Elrohir had severely overreacted. It was even almost healed. But the entrance wound had been worse, seeing as the shaft had left several gruesomely long, painful splinters in the wound. A dissolving agent had been poured into the hole, one that helped to remove the splinters but had had an acidlike effect on the skin, irritating it severely. They had treated it well in Imladris, but not well enough for him to be traveling so soon...the forty days he was given tripled would _maybe_ be long enough.

Since their departure, his leg had swollen to the point where the usually loose trousers became skintight, which was irritating both to the wound and to Elladan's patience, and several stitches had already torn. But the thought of making a pine needle and a strand of hair into a makeshift surgical tool as he had been taught as an elfling made his insides squeamish--Elrohir would have to try his hand at medicine tonight. But that disregarded the massive unsanitariness of the act itself…sighing a cheerful children's tune in the hopes of raising his morale, Elladan administered more of the herbal numbing agent to the site and pressed a helpful plant against the hole, one that was notorious for its sting but was spongy, and known well in medical circles for its prowess in sucking out bad blood.

He glanced back at Ichigo and struggled not to get angry. Elladan opted to stare back down at the leaf as it worked its magic, tinting an ugly brown as the chlorophyll and the red blood cells mixed and sogged the plant. What was the point of him whisking them away them on this quest? That Ring? Because if that was what it was, he was tying Kurosaki up and dragging him straight home, that idiot's feelings be _damned_. They were _warriors_ , not little girls at a sleepover. They hadn't had sleepovers for decades. There was no way this counted, either. Especially not since this was under the pretense of a mission.

Elladan winced as the plant made a glopping noise and he could feel the blood being sucked from his skin acutely. He was not stupid. He knew he would carry the reprecussions of this wound for the rest of his life if he did not get it treated professionally. With this wound rendering him blissfully abnormal, Elrohir remained as the only remotely ordinary one in the group. Snorting, Elladan shook his head and pulled another spongy plant towards him, since the current one was almost full. That thought, Elrohir being normal, was funnys. In Elladan's long memory, he had always been the one with the most regularity, seeing as Ichigo couldn't possibly be any _more abnormal and Elrohir avidly competed against that, taking after him with gleaming eyes, as if the title of least normal was a golden crown. So not being the regular guy (and also the referee)...well, it was weird. Plus, the reason why was a possibly infected wound that was stitched and hastily restitched with unsanitized utensils in a town far back in their trek, utensils that he needed now, plus he was slightly bamboozled through the mans of several medicinal herbs, harmless ones, that caused painlessness but also rendered the intaker slightly woozy and confused._

But it was truly odd, the feeling of being odd. It kind of made him feel closer to Ichigo, knowing that he was strange, just as the other being was. Just as the other man had been, for three thousand years since Sauron's first demise, labeled strange by his exotic hair of flames which marked him apart from the world.

A rustling from the bushes announced Elrohir's return, and Elladan yanked his pants up, not bothering to attempt to fasten them with his mind and his fingers the way they were. Elrohir was stressed enough. He didn't need to see his brother's wounded, disgusting leg on top of babysitting Ichigo. And Elladan was more versed in medicine, considering he hadn't been the one that had _slept through their father's little training seminars_. His brother put a hand to his forehead and sighed. "You are warm, but there is no sign of sickness. Go to sleep early. I shall wake you when the blood sun rises."

"Thank you, brother," Elladan whispered, smiling.

His only response was a grunt and a pat on the good leg, but that was enough for him. Absently, he felt at some point Elrohir's fingers wiping cool medicine on his brow, but he barely felt it.

His leg throbbing, Elladan fell into a white dream.

 **XXXXXX**

That sonuvabitch portal was gonna effin _DIE_.

Hichigo gnawed furiously at the bloody, chewed up remains of his thumbnail, staring at the black hole that was already growing, centimeter by centimeter by motherfuggin' centimeter. It had somehow mutated, beginning to consume Ichigo's reiatsu and reaching towards the extra reserves, which were a whopping six percent lower than they should be, what with Ichigo's freaky regenerative power. The only other thing it was being tapped for was the backseat problem: Ichigo's inability to demerge from Hichigo. It wasn't really fun, being half merged; it was a discomfort neither of them really needed but one that was being forced upon them, now that most of Concentration had been smothered by this portal. Especially since his companions, the elf kids, were fucknuggets that couldn't just TAKE A HINT and LEAVE AIBOU _ALONE_. It was bad enough that Tensa Zangetsu had disappeared into the Control Room and had been forcing Ichigo to move around. It was awesome and all that he had stopped Ichigo just shy of using Hichigo's mindless survival instincts to tear Elrohir's throat out, but Hichigo was not a naturally bred thinker, like the old man, he was a doer.

But this? This could not be solved by hacking and slashing. The weak buildings that Hichigo had sawed in half behind it told that story. The portal had just rippled pleasantly when the getsuga tenshou had hit it, absorbing the impact with a lovely 'fuck you', and the slashes with his cleaver had just passed through it. Punching it didn't work either, not even ones where Hichigo shouted " _KAMEHAMEHAAA_!", and the edges weren't even solid so he couldn't smash it or push it over. And when he'd finally gotten the old man to goddamn _calm down_ over Ichigo's mental state, eventually just telling the old man to pull Ichigo into a sort of coma so his current retarded state would not endanger them while they worked to fix what had broken, Tensa Zangetsu had tried his little Ichigo Ejection shtick on it--still hadn't worked. Well _shit_ , that left the one option he really didn't like. Bankai was a huge no-no, even in normal times. He'd end up crushing his companions' souls no matter what state he was in. There was no possible way Hichigo could break this thing.

The portal was swallowing up the whole of Concentration. Ichigo had no fucking idea what he was doing anymore. He was lucky that his time as a warrior provided him with a base knowledge of martial arts so ingrained in him that it didn't require much thought, or he would be a sitting duck. Hichigo released his mangled thumb, reluctantly allowing the sinews to meld together again, and let himself wonder as he started again on its destruction, sinking his sharp incisors deep into the digit and letting the blood drip out of his mouth, trying to avoid staining his white shihakusho as he gnawed, so deep in shitty ideas pinging against his brain and worrying about what he'd do once he did what he knew he had to that the pain was barely noticeable. He and Tensa Zangetsu were two separate entities that shared one knowledge. And although the shady Quincy bastard was able to keep some things to himself, Hichigo could tell from the angsty bitching about dumb shit that Mr. Know-All had no other _fucking_ ideas either of how to save their Ichigo. And it was tearing them all apart, this decision.

"Yer a fuckin' _disgrace_ to normalcy, Aibou," he muttered absently around his prey, still wondering, coming up with fanciful ideas and daring strategies that would neither work nor be helpful if they did, even if they would be awesome to try. Finally, Hichigo could not hide his curiosity any longer, nor his horror at this situation, his anxiety that it his last strategy would not work and this shithole situation would never be resolved, and his innate terror that this fucking cancer would eventually eat up everything and revert their Ichigo into a husk, a shell of the spunky idiot asshole he was. Sticking out a hand, Hichigo pulled whatever sparse instincts of self-preservation he had into the pit of his stomach, where it would lay dormant until he pulled his head back out of his ass and finished being stupid. And then he touched the surface of the weed, the ever-growing portal.

Just as it had been the last time he had entered it, the feeling of the entrance was barely noticeable, like putting a hand into a haze of smoke. But in the aftermath of that gaseous feeling came a sharp stab that pricked into his nerves. Hichigo took his thumb out of his mouth, allowing it a moment to heal up, before he submerged completely into the portal with one quick, fluid movement. The sensation was a bit like pulling off a gigantic bandaid, a sensation Hichigo only knew because when he was feeling particularly angry he would calm down by looking into _Long Term Memory_ at toddler Aibou and feel better. Not that Ichigo would ever know that. Tensa was already sworn to silence. The pain hit him all at once for an agonizing second, one in which he was already preoccupied with trying to remember if the old man had any good dirt, and then not at all, leaking away into relief.

The best part about the dark, smelly world beyond the portal was that getting back was fairly easy: the entrance literally followed him around, only allowing him about six meters or so of room before it lagged behind him like a homesick puppy. Either that, or the fact that, by Hichigo's estimates, it never rained there. It had been lightly drizzling in the inner world for a few days, testament that Ichigo either had a _vaaaague_ knowledge of what was going on and was completely unable to fix it either, or that, oh no, Elladan's leg was going to have to be amputated. All signs pointed to the former, since the audio and sight records showed that unless the thousand year old teenage elf warrior was an inner pussy, he would be _fine_. But the sudden rain had caused Tensa Zangetsu to practically shit himself and send Hichigo all over the damn place searching for error, which had caused Hichigo to start flying as fast as his feet could carry him over the rooftops, checking in _Relationships_ and _Short Term Memories_ and _fuck knows where else_ despite already sensing that everything was fine there. Again, perks of being a zanpakuto spirit; he knew these things. Tensa made him double check anyways.

Hichigo walked for a little while, getting used to the new area. It was a large map, the boundaries of which Hichigo could not tell. But the place was dark, like a cave, only glowing with a dim reddish light that seemed to come from the very air itself. Several large stone pillars were spaced about a kilometer apart each and held the ceiling up with a gargantuan strength. They were decorated with perfect curling designs only marred by huge claw marks and fallen pieces that lay sadly at the bases of the towering pillars. Hichigo rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, hand itching for the blade strapped to his back. He pushed down the urge. There would not be any strange creatures hitting him into those posts this time, and even if there were, he would take it like a bitch and start extracting information like the old man: torture style. _Diplomacy, diplomacy_. Ichigo's favorite word to scream at him after kicking Tensa a long ways away and using the time that gave him to forcefully take control of their body, if only for the purpose of punching Byakuya in the face. _Diplomacy_. Hichigo snorted. _What_ diplomacy?

Ugh. This place smelled like Keigo's gym socks.

Looking around, Hichigo nodded to himself. This seemed to be a good spot. He was between two pillars, and the wreckage of what he and Melkor had done last trip in was in the seeable distance. He braced his feet wide apart, glaring around, daring the creature that was making that awful moan to do it again. When it dared, he took a brief hunting intermission.

Flicking some sort of silvery, goopy blood off of his sword, he returned to his place, trying to pull on his inner Zen. Scowling, because honestly he was really bad at Zen, and anyways he would rather do this himself than ask this crackpot for help, Hichigo swallowed his pride, went over a quick study of how much English he understood (not enough for a proper conversation, but fuck it, whatever), and called, "Yo! Mellie!"

 **XXXXXX**

He'd thought that they would turn around ages ago, when his senses, so acutely precise from years of being Strider the Ranger, called the snowstorm. Gandalf had seen his face. He knew that it was no joke. But the old man was also about five and a half feet tall.

The hobbits and the dwarf, on the other hand, barely graced four feet. On multiple occasions, he and Legolas had dug one or two if them out of a particularly large snowbank, one that came to their shoulders unlike only coming to Gandalf's waist, and the old man also had the advantage of his magic to shelter him from the storm's bite. "Gandalf," he shouted over the howling winds, "we cannot go on like this! We have to find a new route!"

"We should take Moria," Gimli grumbled, "we shall find plenty solace there, even with that blasted elf among us--oof!"

" _Gandalf_!"

The wizard stopped and turned, allowing Aragorn to come up next to him. "You have felt the signs as well, Master Aragorn. The smell of a fire from the way we have come, the curling power spike from the distance that I have felt only once before. That demigod, your friend, he follows us. I do not trust his intentions. We cannot turn back!"

It was no use arguing about the innocency of his swordsmaster. Gandalf would not hear of it; the old being was certain that Kurosaki had no pure intent.

"Would you rather they freeze?" Aragorn snapped instead, jerking his head at his short statured companions. Gimli grunted protest, but was paid no mind as Legolas yet again tugged him out of a deeper spot of snow. Frodo quirked his lips. They were slowly changing from purple to blue. Sighing, Aragorn rubbed his brow. "Let us do as Gimli suggests," he murmured, and the protests stopped as he continued, "Let us take Moria through the mountains. Heavens knows if we will find shelter from the cold in the undergrounds, but at least the Halflings will be able to move quickly should lurking danger find us."

Gandalf pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed, but it was a huff that signaled his breaking resolve. Finally, he sighed, "Alright. We shall change courses. We will go to Moria, to take shelter. Be wary, for the path there is unsafe, and the travel through is a four day's journey."

 **XXXXXX**

The Ring was unsatisfied. Mostly chain it was being held on was ugly and unfashionable, but the beings around it were not helping his plans, and that matter was much more irksome.

Its carrier had the familiar mind of its past wielder, the familiar patterns and layout and habits, but this carrier was younger, much younger, brimming with a youthfulness that made the Ring go cold with delight. Youths were powerful. Young was synonymous to naive. Small green fledglings were perfect for corrupting, and oh, how it would savor every moment that it did, for this would be the last. Then it would be on the familiar iron finger of Sauron, its true master.

The sooner, the better, as well. The Death was catching up to them, and quickly. It had been slowed down slightly for a few days, and at one point the Ring could actually feel the presence of a darkness stronger than Master Sauron, but it had since disappeared without trace, and the Death's gait had sped up. But he would get away, and get back to Sauron, and once the carrier was dead, they would rule.

First, though, it needed to drag the carrier away from the Death.

It was unfortunately Master Sauron's error, allowing the creature free will, even if he had bound him to his own master instead of himself. The creature would able to kill it. Legitimately as well, take the Ring and split it from its consciousness and kill it. That was why it was following them, after all. It may not know why itself, but the Ring knew. It was the Death's most base purpose. Oh yes, Ring knew the intent of the Death. The Ring had touched it once, had seen its mind, his memories. And the Ring had seen much. Three thousand years of blurred happenings of Rivendell, and then the first twenty or so years of the being's life, growing with its sisters and its friends, learning to defend itself, learning its purpose in the spiritual world and how to live with the monsters within itself. Yes, the Ring knew. It knew the being better than it did itself. And the Ring was afraid.

The Death would kill it the next time it saw the Ring, and that was _unacceptable_.

So the Ring spurred its carrier on, whispering encouragement and lightening his mood and trying to dampen down its aura of wanting, the aura it always automatically gave off that spoke unforgiving volumes of greed to even the most selfless of men. It was affecting the speed of the trip, especially that of the oaf, Boromir. And slowness would not be tolerated, not when the consciousness of the Ring was at stake.

But the Ring was not happy, not happy at all, when the group decided to go into the Mines of Moria and escape from the bitter December storms on the mountains. Especially since the storm reeked of the power of Saruman.

The goblin troops sent to scour the mines and clear the dwarves from them would slow the group down further. The Death would catch them, and that would be the end. So the Ring whispered doubt into the ears of the wizard. But the dwarf with them, no matter how much the Ring persuaded, was oxlike in his adamant decision that the Mines of Moria were the right way. And that determination bred doubt in the minds of the others. That was okay...it seemed...but the Ring could sense its previous holder, the idiot Smeagol, down in those mines. It would be unpleasant to meet with him. The being had been so taken with his spell and so repulsed by his own greed that his goodness and badness had split, his very soul shattering into two parts. And while the kinder side, Smeagol, was incapable of feeling bloodlust, it was easily influenced by Gollum, the darker side, which bled into a murky mix of the parts for only a second until it was completely taken over by Gollum.

Perhaps the Death following them was a good thing. Gollum was prone to sensing when something was after "his precious". There was no doubt that the Death would prevail should there be a scuffle, seeing as it had two disgusting elf brats by its side and it was more than capable of handling a split soul. But the resulting injury would only cause delay, which was very good. Very good indeed.

Its carrier flinched, and the Ring quickly modulated its temperature. It had never had to do that with Master Sauron. Flesh and blood was more temperature sensitive than iron--because skin and bone had nerve endings. The Ring didn't have any of that; it was pure gold and evil sentience. But adjusting the temperature of its small form to be comfortable to that of the carrier was irritating. One more thing to look forward to when it returned to the hands of its master.

But for now, it was time to bring the Fellowship through. Oh yes, they would take Moria. It would influence the Ranger, that would spur the travel. It would take them closer, faster. Closer to the Eye, to the Master.

It was time to lead them to the Land of Shadow, and to seal their doom.

 **XXXXXX**

Tentacle monsters. _Cool_.

After Ichigo had gone into meditation the last time, his condition had substantially improved in less than a day. His instincts seemed almost sharper, or maybe it was the differences now that he'd pulled his brain back into his head. But it was definitely a good change. He also started wearing a shawl over his head again, most likely because although the mental changes had subsided, the physical ones had not. Plus, during his lapse he'd forgotten how to tie a simple slipknot, and so rather than tie it on him the twins had opted to keep him out of sight of passerby. The twins had tracked the curve of the Fellowship's trek to Moria, the dwarf city that Elladan only remembered because it was one of the few remotely close to Rivendell. That, and their father had taught them to always know the closest permanent location of your enemies. Elrohir, being the brawn of their duo, had taken a few seconds to check that the name was Moria and not Hadhodrond, as it had been in the past. And the two elves had assured Ichigo that they would be fine with entering the dwarrow mines, the black chasm Moria, where sunlight was a myth.

The thought made Elladan want to hurl. The greenish tinge that his brother's face took on was testament that he shared similar sentiments.

But as soon as they had reached the doors, with the great lake in front, Ichigo had gone pale. Very pale. At first, they thought it was the monster rising from its depths, one that looked quite a sight with several hacked off tentacles and an arrow sticking out of its face, the shaft broken but still poking out comically. Then Ichigo whispered something like "Japanese tentacle porn just got real," and Elladan was lost even as Elrohir stifled a laugh.

Elladan nudged his brother as Ichigo sprang forward to fight. Elrohir replied to his unspoken question, "Ichigo's apparent ethnicity is Japanese--do not give me that grimace, I know it is a truly strange word--and he taught me that porn is…" Elladan's eyes widened, a pink glow spreading across his cheeks as Elrohir described in vivid detail what adult videos and books were. In the background, there were several noises of swords stabbing into flesh, the shriek of an injured monster, grunts and yells of exertion from Ichigo, but Elladan was captured by this new finding, this truly terrifying and intriguing "porn". He stared wide eyed at his brother in two parts disgust, one part fascination. "Why has that never been discovered in Imladris?" he breathed. Elrohir shrugged. "Ichigo swears that Father has copies locked away, somewhere. But mankind definitely has it. I asked Estel at the Council and he turned plum and told me something about abstaining from indulgences, meaning that he is simply a...how does Ichigo say it? A _wimp_? A wimp."

Elladan shrugged. "But maybe he simply thinks that--"

There was a particularly harsh squeal, and a writhing tentacle dropped on Elrohir's head. "Don't teach the innocents about shit like that as if it's good!" Ichigo hollered as Elrohir made a guttural noise of surprise and disgust, "Porn made Ted Bundy!"

"Who is this _Ted Bundy_?" Elrohir shouted back, "Is he rich in culture?"

"A serial killer! He murdered like a hundred people!"

Elrohir looked at Elladan in confusion. "We do the same to orcs, though," he called, "why is this different?"

"Because they were people! And he was caught and electrocuted to death for it!"

"Ah," Elrohir nodded sagely and turned back to his brother. "Porn is inherently evil. Do not, under any circumstances, use it."

Ichigo laughed, a rather disgusting sliding noise coming from his now shriek-less vicinity, and reappeared next to them. "That was good," he said, running a hand through his waving flames and brushing glistening sweat from his brow. Then he frowned. "I think the entrance is caved in, though," he added, nodding to a particularly tall pile of boulders, "and destroying it might bring more down."

Elladan sighed. "When has reason ever stopped us before?" He muttered.

Elrohir gestured at the rocks, then returned to fumbling in his pouch for that Nightglow...now where was that stinking flower… "Go ahead and blow them up, Ichigo. If it comes down, we can simply take the five day route to the other side."

" _Bala_."

Long story short, Ichigo shot a little glowing bullet thing, pebbles fell and the ground shook, but the rest of the cave system held.

For about two minutes.

The second the three were inside and through the first doorway, the ground started shaking again, and with several deafening crashes and a white plume of dust that shot through the door like a dangerous cloud, Elladan peeked through at the newly sealed entrance, the only hints that there was any sort of doorway there at all the hints of light through the cracks.

"I think that probably could've gone a lot better," Ichigo mumbled, scratching his head. Elladan sniffed, kicking at a corpse on the ground and hissing as the movement stretched his wound. "We have been sealed into a goblin lair, Ichigo," he retorted, tearing an arrow out of the ribcage of a skeleton and shaking it at his brother, the pointed arrowhead made carefully and artfully, unlike orc arrows which were basically sharp things attached to sticks with feathers on the end. "And you _think_ it could have gone better?" Elrohir snorted and smacked the arrow out of his sibling's hands. "Do not even _try_ to touch sharp things, crip," he commanded teasingly, "You are guaranteed to stab yourself again."

"That was not my fault!" Elladan protested, but by then Elrohir had already bounded forward towards Ichigo, who was holding the Nightglow between his forefinger and thumb like a dead mouse.

"Is this radioactive?" he asked them suspiciously.

The twins shared a bemused glance. " _What_?"

He opened his mouth to explain, but a sharp roar cut him off, one accompanied by a blast of heat. The twins looked between each other as Ichigo looked between them expectantly.

Elrohir paled as he came up with the answer to their unspoken question. "Balrog," he murmured.

" _Balrog_?" Ichigo echoed. "Sounds like a type of toad. Or a fungus."

"It is a gigantic fire demon," Elladan stated, ignoring Ichigo's quips and staring at the next doorway, "and by the sound of it, it is about a two day's walk from here."

"And it has probably found the Fellowship as well," Elrohir added bitterly, "Oh, how unlucky. At least they have Gandalf the Grey, those poor bastards. The Halflings must have become like little mice cowering under the folds of his cloak. The Balrog is such a _heinous_ foe...how awful to have encountered it here."

"Are we going to fight it?" Ichigo asked suddenly.

 _Shit_. They had forgotten that Ichigo was in his strange half-Berserker mode still, even if his attention had gone back to normal. "No," Elladan replied firmly, "it's too far. Much too far. We'll never make it and save them."

"I can."

Ichigo's smile was predatory, and paired with those eyes…

"I can bring us to it in a matter of minutes," he said, still grinning like a manic lion on the prowl.

Absently, Elladan wondered why bring them along in the first place if all they were going to do was slow him down, but he shook the thought off.

"Bring us to it," he said decisively, "and do not _dare_ rip another one of my stitches."

 _XXXXXX_

Rukia was pissed.

Urahara's invention, while normally quickly built once he set his mind to the task, had taken a full month to accomplish, and it still wasn't complete.

They were going to get their dumbass Strawberry back, by any means necessary, and then he was going to have to be strapped down as a long line of people took their turns bitchslapping that idiot. Kenpachi included. But for now, they would wait for Urahara to emerge from his playground with hopeful hearts, and wait for the return of Ichigo Kurosaki.

It had almost been three months. It had been a blur, what with waiting for Ichigo's reiatsu signature to resurface and freaking out when it never did, but Rukia knew that months was a long time; almost a fourth of a year. The once peaceful relations between Hueco Mundo and Soul Society were growing antsy.

They could not bear to wait another.

 **XXXXXX**

 **And SCENE!**

 **Wow! Another chapter! Cool! It's been what, two months? I talked a ton at the top, so I won't say much here. Thanks for staying with the story!**

 **~ _RegalOneByTheStream_**

I


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